The Hunt
by DeadlyRecon
Summary: -SCRAPPED-
1. Prologue

_**A/N: Before you read my story, I must give you a fair warning. This**_ **is _rated M for Mature. Not because of Sexual Content or anything like that, but because of the general theme of the story._ The Hunt _is the first act of a massive retelling of the Mass Effect Trilogy, where military realism and the accurate portrayal of military life, specifically in a USMC-inspired Systems Alliance Marine Corps, takes priority._** ** _Everything you love about Mass Effect (minus the decision making, of course) is still here. But this is, at the end of the day, a military drama. Combat is gritty and brutal. Shepard isn't some all powerful hero; in his heart he is a simple Marine. A man with a past that continues to haunt him. Even as he becomes the leader of not only the classic squadmates of ME, but also a new cast of Recon Marines, all with their own personalities and backstories. The men and women under his command are Jarheads through and through. Dark humor and sexual innuendos are their specialty. They have mouths dirtier than the worst truck drivers and make Jack look like an angel. Ask anyone in real life who's ever known a marine as either family or friend; they won't tell you it's any different. Anyways, I digress. Point being, know what you're getting into. This isn't a story for the feint of heart. Consider yourself warned._**

* * *

 **The Hunt**

 **Prologue**

There was still a long list to go, but not nearly enough coffee to last. Captain David Edward Anderson, Human Systems Alliance Navy, had already picked up the mug and brought it to his lips before he finally realized it was empty. With a frustrated moan, he set it back down on the conference table with a little more force than intended and rubbed his strained, sleep deprived eyes. After a deep, audible sigh, he looked over his shoulder to the linoleum counter at the end of the room and, much to his dissatisfaction, took notice of the empty decanter. "We're out of coffee," he declared in monotone before practically tossing his datapad onto the table.

"Yes," said the weary, slightly Irish-accented voice of the man sitting across. Ambassador Donnel Udina, representative of Humanity to the Citadel Council, spoke in his usual neutral tone. "It appears we are."

"I'll go get some more from the cafeteria," said another deep, aged voice from the other end of the table.

Anderson saw the man in question, dressed in a high ranking officer's Alliance Blues, steadily rise to his feet from his chair. "Much appreciated, Admiral Hackett."

"Please do," said Udina, his squinting eyes not leaving the datapad in his hands. "I feel we will be here for quite a while longer."

The admiral did not say another word before leaving the room, Anderson catching a brief glimpse of the Alliance Marine keeping guard outside the door before his superior closed it. Only after another half-minute of rubbing his shut eyes and catching himself nearly passing out in the process did the captain pick back up his datapad. With a swipe of his index finger, the next profile in line loaded onto the holographic screen. "This is taking a lot longer than I thought."

"Nothing is ever easy in politics, Anderson." Udina too swiped at his datapad a moment after his statement.

"True enough," Anderson snorted. "Remind me again later to stay as far away from it all as possible."

That elicited a small grin from the ambassador. "My pleasure."

With another sigh, Anderson once again swiped with his finger in irritation and disappointment, finding nothing that truly fitted the quota provided by the day's task. After a few seconds of skimming over the new information displayed, however, his eyes widened and he leaned forward over the table. "Ambassador..."

Having waited several seconds for the captain to continue only for no such thing to occur, Udina finally cast his gaze away from his datapad and placed it down. "Yes?"

Anderson's eyes were still looking over the dossier in his hands as he spoke. "What about Shepard?"

The ambassador stared at him for a couple still seconds while he tried to piece together who the captain was exactly referring to. "Commander Shepard," he asked as he reverted back to his datapad. He spoke again when he searched for and found the proper profile. "He... grew up in the colonies."

"He knows how tough life can be out there. His entire family was killed when Batarian slavers attacked Mindoir in 2170. Joined the Alliance two years later on his eighteenth birthday."

At that moment, Admiral Steven Hackett returned with a full decanter of black coffee. When he entered the room and closed the door behind him, he immediately took notice of the new attitude. "Did we find someone?"

"Shepard, sir," Anderson replied.

"Hmm, Shepard..." Hackett walked over to the counter to his right and put down the coffee. Once having done so, however, he did not move. He simply stared at the decanter. "He's a fine marine, but his whole unit died on Akuze in '77. Saw them torn to pieces by thresher maws with his own eyes." He then turned around to acknowledge the other two men in the room, his face showing a grim expression. "That, coupled with the attack on Mindoir... he could be suffering from some serious emotional scars."

Anderson looked up at the admiral, his eyes showing a mind clearly set on a decision. "Every soldier has scars. Shepard's a survivor."

Hackett did not respond, but Udina continued instead. "Who recommended him?

The captain hastily shot a glance back to his datapad before responding to the ambassador. "Nihlus Kryik."

Udina's eyes opened wide in shock. "The _Turian_ spectre?"

"That's what it says." If Anderson was going to be honest, even he was fairly surprised that a Turian, of all people, actually brought up the name of a Human prospect. In a way, however, it made the decision that much easier for him to make. If a Turian thought highly of Shepard, it must sincerely speak wonders about the man.

A long moment of silence passed in the room as the three men shifted through their thoughts, each one going over their own version of the pros and cons to this decision. Finally, with his eyes now showing skepticism, Udina asked the million credit question. "Is Shepard the kind of person we _want_ protecting the galaxy?"

There was only the briefest of hesitation in the Alliance captain. "He's the only kind of person who _can_ protect the galaxy."

The ambassador, after another couple seconds, finally sighed. "I guess it's settled... I'll make the call."

* * *

 _In the year 2148, explorers on Mars discovered the remains of an ancient spacefaring civilization. In the decades that followed, these mysterious artifacts revealed startling new technologies, enabling travel to the furthest stars. The basis for this incredible technology was a force that controlled the very fabric of space and time._

 _They called it the greatest discovery in Human history..._

 _The civilizations of the galaxy call it..._

 **MASS EFFECT**


	2. C1) Shakedown

**_A/N: If there are any words, phrases or acronyms you do not understand, please refer to the Index at the ending of the chapter. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!_**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **Shakedown**

 _Fire and death. It was in the air. In the fields. In the towering skyscrapers. In the smallest of homes. The screams of the dying surrounded him. They engulfed him. Buried him. He could not escape. All he could do was watch as all burned to ash. His tears drying up as fast as they came. There was no running away. There was only hell. A single voice calling to him._

 _"_ _JOHN!"_

* * *

Commander Jonathan Wright Shepard, Alliance Marine Corps, woke up sweating and with a frightened gasp. He was breathing heavily and almost uncontrollably, his mind racing as it attempted to figure out where he was. After a few moments of scanning his surroundings and being left to his thoughts, he finally managed to recognize the interior of the sleeping pod he was laying within. At this realization, he slowly began to calm himself down, his heart rate noticeably normalizing. _The usual nightmare_ , he thought as he brought up his palm to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He looked up near the top of his sleeping pod where there sat a digital clock and read the time. _0502 hours_. Shepard let out a deep, disappointed breath. He always seemed to wake up on his own before his alarm, set for 0530, or 5:30 A.M. Earth time, would go off. Knowing he would be unable to go back to sleep even if there was a point in doing so, he opened his sleeping pod with a hint of reluctance and stepped out onto the crew deck of the _SSV Normandy_ , _SR1_.

After using a short moment to stretch out his limbs, the commander moved to his personal locker on the side of his sleeping pod, pulled out his casual Alliance uniform, and properly dressed himself. Now clothed and ready to begin the long day ahead, he spared a few seconds longer to quietly listen to the air around him. The ship was peacefully silent, albeit a bit eerily, as not a single other soul on the deck stirred. Only the very faint, smooth hum of the _Normandy_ 's engines echoed throughout and gingerly gave in to the truth that the commander was, in fact, aboard a vessel. Allowing no more time to go to waste, Shepard proceeded to walk down the fairly narrow corridor to begin his morning routine. Starting, of course, with a good old 'cup of joe' at the Mess Hall. It would not be a life on tour as a marine or sailor without the lifeblood of the service that is coffee. He eagerly awaited his serving with a smile, just as he always did every morning while the coffee machine spent a few minutes preparing it. He may not have always eaten and enjoyed breakfast meals, but he most definitely found a great feeling of satisfaction with a well-prepared cup of coffee. It was one of the few luxuries of marine life aboard a naval vessel. As it has always been for many men and women in the service since the very beginning of Human mechanized warfare and 'wet navies' at the dawn of the 19th century. Another smile came across the commander's face at the idea that his everyday morning procedure was most likely no different than that of marine and navy officers' several hundred years ago.

As if having waited for the _ding_ of the coffee machine, signifying the refreshment was ready, one of the two automatic doors at the back of the Crew Deck opened with its audible _swish_. Shepard made sure to grab his cup before turning to see Captain Anderson walk into the Mess Hall. "Good Morning, Captain," he said with a salute as he stood at attention.

Anderson's pace slackened as he took notice of the commander and gave the marine a cordial half smile. "At ease, Shepard." He chuckled slightly at the sight of the steaming hot cup of coffee. "I see you've already taken care of yourself."

Shepard gave his superior a small grin as he relaxed his stance. "As always, sir. Can't start the day without it," he said with a sip of his cup.

"Right you are." The captain came up to the small kitchen area and grabbed himself his own mug before placing it inside the coffee machine. After turning it back on, he looked to the commander with a raised eyebrow. "Trouble sleeping?"

"If you can't find any other way to explain me being up this early."

"Anyone else and I'd say you were incredibly dedicated." Anderson's expression was now entirely serious, but there was a small hint of worry. "But we know it's more than that when you're involved, Shepard."

A somber half smile and downcast eyes were the only signs of the commander's distress. "It's nothing new, sir." When the captain continued to stare at him in search of a more detailed answer, Shepard felt it was an appropriate time to shoot back a question. "If I may ask, what is the real reason you came down here, Captain? You've never come down here this early before."

Anderson's smile returned, most likely sensing Shepard's attempt at deflection. Regardless, he went on to reply. "As sharp as ever." The coffee machine once again sounded off with a _ding_ and he briefly turned to take his now full cup. "We've just received our orders from Fifth Fleet. At approximately..." He hastily raised his left arm to reveal the analog watch wrapped around his wrist. The style was old and outdated, but the captain always refused to trade it for a modern kind. "... o' five-thirty hours, a certain VIP will be arriving. Once they are aboard, we will be leaving the Sol System for Eden Prime."

The commander stiffened, his face and gaze now showing the calm determination and readiness that came natural to him after his many years of training and service time. He did not ask who the VIP was. Nor did he bother to wonder why they were to leave for what was supposed to be one of the most peaceful Human colonies in the galaxy. There was only one, straight-to-the-point question that came to his mind. "What is the objective of our mission, sir?"

"That will have to wait, Commander," Anderson declared after a sip of his coffee. "We'll have a full briefing after our VIP arrives. For the meantime..." He pointed in the direction of the corridor with the sleeping pods of the crew. "I believe your marines are in for an early wakeup."

Shepard laughed as a smirk spread across his face. "Roger that, sir." With a new found exuberance, he hastily jugged down the rest of his coffee before placing down his cup and moving over to the control panel on the wall at the start of the corridor. After logging into the system, he turned off the lights around the sleeping pods and opened their doors to reveal the various men and women still asleep inside them. With a final nod of approval from Anderson, he yelled out loud with a big, devious smile. "LIGHTS-LIGHTS-LIGHTS!"

—

Corporal Nathan Kennedy was having the most pleasurable of dreams when the wakeup call echoed through his mind and the sudden burst of illumination burned his eyes. As was honed into his very bones by his time spent in the twelve grueling weeks of Marine Corps Boot Camp, he subconsciously reacted immediately by jumping out of his sleeper pod and standing straight up at attention. "FIVE, FOUR..." the voice that woke him continued as others around him did the same. "... THREE, TWO, ONE!"

"DONE, SIR," was the instant, bellowed response from all twenty-three marines now lined up in two rows facing each other.

"Sixty to get on your uniforms!"

"AYE, SIR!" All the marines began scrambling to their own personal lockers, almost throwing their belongings out onto the floor as they rummaged through them.

"FIFTY-NINE, FIFTY-EIGHT, FIFTY-SEVEN..." The numbers were not in seconds, but instead however fast the voice could yell them. "... FIFTY-SIX, FIFTY-FIVE, FIFTY-FOUR..." The countdown continued as all the marines put on their clothes as fast as humanly possible. Several tripped over themselves as they attempted to put on their socks and boots while others were forced to take their shirts or pants off when they realized they had originally put them on backwards. Kennedy just managed to finish by the time the voice reached the single digits. "... SIX, FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE!"

"DONE, SIR!" As if in defiance of all the loud noise and chatter that had plagued the corridor for the past minute, the entire space suddenly fell into an uncanny laconism. Every marine did nothing but stare straight ahead as they stood in attention, all having been able to finish clothing themselves before the countdown ended.

For the next several long moments, Kennedy started sobering up from his drowsiness and fully began to realize where he was. This was not boot camp. He was not a recruit. He was on the _Normandy_. And he was a full-fledged Recon Marine. _So why in God's name am I goin' through this shyt again?_ After what felt like an eternity, the sound of boots walking on metal filled the corridor. It was slow and methodical, each step accompanied by a relatively long pause afterwards. At first it was distant, Kennedy being one of the farthest marines in the back. Eventually, however, the steps came closer and their volumes became louder. Only when they stopped in front of the corporal did he finally see the cause of it all. The very origin of the day's disruptive beginning. _Oh, this arse_ , he thought to himself.

Standing in front of him now was none other than the infamous Commander Shepard. N7 operator and veteran of several insurgencies and anti-piracy campaigns, the long, nasty scar that stretched up from his jaw and over his emerald green right eye served as a testimony to his survival of the dreaded Akuze mission. Compared to him, Kennedy looked, and felt, like nothing better than a recruit. Recon Marine or not. "At ease," the commander ordered, no longer yelling at the top of his lungs. When the marines responded by changing their stances to parade rest, he continued. "Excellent display, marines. I shouldn't expect any less from Recon, rah?"

"OO-RAH, sir!"

"Fan-fucking-tastic!" Shepard began walking back to the front of the corridor at the same pace as before. "That just motivated the shit out of me!" A wide and enthusiastic smile spread across his face at the scattered chuckles. "But I know how you bunch of crazy mother fuckers feel. Are you motivated, marines?"

"No, sir!"

"Hell no, you're not! Your CO is playing games and waking your asses up almost an hour early. And you didn't even get a damn good motivational speech, did you?"

"No, sir!"

"Well too bad, marines, because I don't have a bullshit speech for you!" He motioned his head and pointed to a lightly tanned female marine on his right. "Especially you, Rodriquez. I don't like you." More chuckles and laughter emerged, causing the commander's smile to grow. Even Rodriquez shook her head with a laugh. "You sick bastards don't even want a speech! What do you want?"

"KILL!"

"That's right!" Shepard pumped his fist in approval. "Recon wants to kill. Preferably Batarian pirates, rah?"

"OO-RAH, sir!"

"Well not today, marines. But your time will come! And when it does, let those four-eyed mother fuckers put their slaves up front! All we'll do is sneak up around them with a cup of coffee, slap them on the back of the shoulder and say 'What the fuck is your problem, bitch?'" The commander let a large round of laughter spread throughout the marines. He spoke again once it quieted down. "For now, marines, the best we got is babysitting some damn VIP. But before this poor soul bumps into Recon, I need to know my marines are motivated! So are you motivated?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Oo-fucking-rah!" Shepard, now standing at the beginning of the corridor and facing the rallied marines, brought up his right arm and activated his omnitool to check the time. "ETA on the VIP is fifteen mikes. That's fifteen minutes to eat, shit, brush your teeth, and get your gear on. Get to it!"

* * *

"The Arcturus Prime relay is in range," said Flight Lieutenant Jeff "Joker" Moreau over the ship-wide communications. "Initiating transmission sequence."

Shepard had just reached the CIC when the announcement came. Every other crewman on the deck was preparing for the jump, whether it be by manning a specific station or terminal to watch over essential ship systems or simply brace for the acceleration caused by navigating a Mass Relay. As he walked through the scene taking place, he brought his index and middle finger to his ear to activate his radio communicator. "I'm on my way to the cockpit, Joker."

"Roger that, Commander." The helmsman sounded irritated as he spoke through the private com channel. "Our ' _VIP_ ' is already here." Shepard simply chuckled and shook his head without furthering the conversation. He was sure Joker would have plenty to say once they were talking face-to-face. "We are connected," the flight lieutenant continued over ship-wide, his annoyance nearly noticeable. "Calculating transmit mass and destination... the relay is hot. Acquiring approach vector."

Another voice spoke up throughout the ship and the commander immediately recognized it as Anderson's. "Attention all crew: prepare for imminent Mass Relay jump. I repeat, prepare for imminent Mass Relay jump. All stations report for transit."

A few seconds later, various crewmen in the CIC began verbally reporting in. "Navigations, green."

"Engineering reports green."

"Weapon systems, green."

"Life Support is green."

"All stations are secure for transit. Board is green and approach run has begun." Shepard walked into the cockpit just as Joker finished his last statement. He sat down in the only unoccupied seat out of the four available to prepare for the slight disturbance of traveling through the Mass Relay. "Hitting the relay in t-minus five, four, three, two, one."

The commander had a perfect view of the massive structure floating in space through the cockpit window. Amusingly, its design shared a striking similarity with a corn holder, albeit the relay was purple and contained a large orb of blue energy in the center of its superstructure. When the _Normandy_ approached it, the orb shot out some of its energy into something akin to a lightning bolt, only it seemed to actually grab hold of the ship. A moment later the vessel suddenly jerked forward as it was propelled to unimaginable speeds, coursing through a space where the laws of relativity and physics are completely disregarded due to the Mass Effect field provided by the relay. For several consecutive seconds, Shepard was pushed back into his chair by a force that was equivalent to three Gs. It was an experience he encountered dozens, possibly hundreds of times during his career in the service and he had grown used to the sensation long ago. Once it was over, he returned to the closest window and once again found himself gazing at the vast emptiness of space, the illumination of distant stars and galaxies providing a display of celestial lights.

After waiting a few moments to let the crew recuperate, specifically those who were not so adapted to traveling via a relay, Joker again spoke through the ship-wide coms. "Thrusters... check. Navigation... check. Internal emissions sink engaged... all systems online. Drift... just under fifteen-hundred K."

Shepard took the chance to stand up from his chair and stretch. He always felt the need to do so after a jump. As he did, however, the VIP too decided to lift himself from his seat. The commander looked to his right and immediately took notice of the seven-foot-tall Turian spectre, Nihlus Kryik, adorned in his customized red and black medium armor. His face was painted with the markings of his colony of origin, but Shepard could not tell whether he was burgundy colored with white face paint or white colored with burgundy face paint. Turian 'skin' colors were just as varied as Humans'. "Fifteen-hundred is good," he admitted approvingly, but without much apparent emotion. "Your captain will be pleased." The spectre then decided to walk away back toward the CIC, leaving the three other humans in the cockpit to their devices.

Joker sneered over his shoulder at the Turian's back before returning to his holographic station. "I hate that guy," he said when the object of his hatred was far enough away not to hear.

"Nihlus gave you a compliment, so... you hate him." Hospital Corpsman First Class Kaidan Alenko, Alliance Navy, was seated in the second chair in the front alongside Joker.

"You remember to zip up your jumpsuit on the way out of the bathroom? That's good." Joker swiveled his chair to the right so he could face Alenko. "I just jumped us halfway across the galaxy and hit a target the size of a pinhead. _That_ is incredible!" He pointed his finger at the forward viewing window for emphasis before swiveling back into his original position. "Besides, Spectres are trouble. Call me paranoid."

"You're paranoid," the corpsman declared. "The Council helped fund this project. That means they have every right to send anyone they please to keep an eye on their investment."

"Yeah, that's the _official_ story, but only an idiot believes that," the helmsman scoffed.

Shepard snorted with a half-smile. "I agree."

Alenko abruptly turned in his seat with surprise, having just now realized the commander was in the cockpit. "Sir, I didn't notice..."

"At ease, Doc," Shepard interrupted with a hand to dismiss further formalities. "To be honest, they don't send Spectres on shakedown runs. Joker might actually be making sense... for once."

Whatever victorious smile was growing on the flight lieutenant's face immediately fell flat with the last statement. "Now that's not fair. I always make sense. Other people just don't ever listen."

"Joker!" Anderson's voice echoed through the cockpit's com system. By the tone of his voice, he sounded more frustrated than usual. "Status report!"

Joker responded immediately. "Stealth systems are engaged and all boards are green, Captain."

"Good," the captain said a little looser. "Find a com buoy and link us into the network. I want a sitrep relayed back to Fifth Fleet _before_ we arrive at Eden Prime."

"Aye, Captain. You might want to brace yourself for trouble. I think Nihlus is heading your way."

"He's already here," Anderson admitted bitterly. "Tell Shepard to meet me in the conference room for an immediate briefing."

"Roger that, sir," Joker managed to say before the captain cut the connection. "You get that, Commander?"

Shepard's expression turned serious. "Yeah... he sounds angry. Something must have gone wrong." Following through with his orders, he turned around and began walking down the hall back toward the CIC, the conference room being in the very back of the Command and Control Deck.

The commander was still able to hear the last of the conversation as he headed off. "Pff, he always sounds like that with me," the helmsman declared matter-of-factly.

A light chuckle escaped Alenko before his sarcasm kicked in. "I can't imagine why."

Halfway to the conference room, Shepard noticed Navigator Pressley, the _Normandy_ 's XO, talking with Lieutenant Adams, the ship's Chief Engineer, over a com channel connected to his station's terminal. Pressley was concerned about Spectre Nihlus while Adams simply thought the XO was over concerned. It was essentially a repeat of the discussion between Joker and Alenko, so the commander moved on. However, as he approached the doors to the conference room, he encountered Doctor Karin Chakwas, the ship's Chief Medical Specialist, engaged in an escalating chat with one of his marines, Corporal Richard L. Jenkins. But before he could introduce himself into the conversation, the corporal already noticed him. "Morning, Commander," he greeted formally with a salute. "Will we be staying on Eden Prime long? I'm itching for some serious action."

Chakwas appeared to be sincerely flabbergasted. "I sincerely hope you're kidding, Corporal. Your 'action' usually ends with me trying to patch up bullets wounds in the Med Bay!"

Shepard chuckled at the exchange with a faint smile. "Relax, Doctor. He's a Recon Marine. They're all a little messed up in the head." When she peered at him wide-eyed with a piercing stare, he shifted his attention to Jenkins and continued before the doctor could retort. His smile was gone. "However, Corporal, you need to calm down a bit there. You're oozing an enthusiasm for combat. A real marine keeps his cool, even when under fire."

"Aye, sir, but..."

The commander interrupted him with wave of his hand, dismissing whatever was going to be said. "'Only a fool wants war.' That's a famous saying by a man named Bernard Cornwell. It would do you well to remember that, Jenkins."

"Roger, Commander." The corporal took Shepard's word to heart and took a deep breath in an attempt to cool off his adrenaline. "Sorry, this waiting's been killing me. It's my first time on a mission like this, and with a _Spectre_ aboard!"

"Just treat this like every other mission, remember your training, and everything will work out," Shepard said with a reassuring smile.

"No offense, sir, but that's easy for you to say. You proved yourself on Akuze."

The commander shook his head and sighed, his smile again disappearing. "And do you know how I survived, Corporal?" When Jenkins shook his head, he continued. "When my life was on the line and people I'd known for years were dying around me, it was my _training_ that kept me alive. Do you also know what every distinguished special forces unit in the galaxy has in common?" Once again the corporal shook his head. "I've talked to people of many different services over the course of my career, including Turian Blackwatch and Salarian STG. Even an Asari commando. And every single one of them said the same thing. They weren't the best because they were good at the advanced skills and tactics. They were the best because they excelled at the _basics_."

"I..." Jenkins started to speak, but stopped himself in his tracks. There was a long pause until, eventually, after giving it some thought, he provided a simple response. "Aye, aye, Commander."

"Good. Now leave the poor Doctor alone. She has enough to worry about."

"Roger that, sir." The corporal shot a salute, his tone and stance displaying a greater confidence and understanding. "I won't let you down. Have a good day, Doctor," he said with a final nod to Chakwas.

Shepard and the doctor watched Jenkins as he walked away toward the staircase leading to the Crew Deck. Once he was out of sight, Chakwas turned to the commander with a raised eyebrow. "If I remember correctly, Commander, there was much more to Cornwell's quote."

A humored laugh escaped him. "You have an excellent memory, Doctor. But Jenkins doesn't need to know that. Besides," he shrugged. "We're not in a war."

Chakwas eyed Shepard with a genuine smile. "Indeed, Commander. In any case, I'll be reporting to the Med Bay as I'm sure you have other duties besides spending time with a frail old woman such as myself."

"I'll see you around, Doctor," Shepard said with another laugh.

"I'm sure you will." She was half-joking and half-seriouse as she bided farewell and followed the path behind Jenkins, making her way for the Crew Deck as well.

When the commander finally entered the conference room, his content smile almost instantly turned into a humorless expression of utmost suspicion. In the center of the small, circular room surrounded by six fixed swivel chairs stood not Anderson, but Nihlus Kryik instead, the Turian's back facing the only entrance. "The Captain said he'd meet me here," Shepard claimed, immediately hinting at his mistrust.

The spectre turned to face the commander eye-to-eye, still appearing as emotionless as ever. "He's on his way," he blatantly stated. "I was hoping you would get here first. It will give us a chance to talk."

Shepard crossed his arms, but refused to at all antagonize further. "What do you want to talk about?"

Nihlus, after a short, audible breath, began pacing. "I'm interested in this colony we're going to. Eden Prime. I have heard it is quite beautiful."

The commander nodded his head. "I've visited a few times myself. It could almost be considered a paradise. At least for Humans."

"Yes..." The spectre seemed to hesitate if only for a brief moment as he appeared to mentally consider his next words. "A 'paradise'. The very definition of serenity, tranquility, and safety. This world has become something of a symbol or token to your people, hasn't it?" He stopped pacing and stood directly in front of the commander with only a few yards between them before continuing. "It's proof that Humanity could not only establish successful colonies, but also protect them. But, allow me to ask, Commander..." Nihlus stepped forward at that moment and was now questioningly staring at Shepard a mere foot away, his eyes scanning the marine's face as if searching for something specific. "How safe is it, really?"

The commander intently stared back at the Turian without speaking a word for several long moments. He did not like where this conversation was going and in his head he was going over the several possible ways he could either disable or kill the spectre. Not that it would be at all easy. It might even be suicidal, but Shepard had survived against worse odds before. "Do you know something, Nihlus, or is this a threat?"

"Your people are still newcomers to the galactic stage, Shepard, and the known universe can be a very dangerous place. Are you sure your Alliance is truly ready for this?" Shepard did not answer, but he did relax a bit. He still could not understand completely what the spectre was implying, but he could at the very least tell his intentions were not going to be problematic... yet.

Just then, Captain Anderson walked into the conference room. He wasted no time to get straight to the point. "I think it's time we told the Commander what's going on."

Nihlus apparently did not hesitate to agree. "This mission is far more than a simple shakedown run. But you knew that."

Shepard shrugged with a nod. "Yeah, I figured as much." He turned to the captain. "What weren't you telling us, sir?"

"We're making a clandestine extraction on Eden Prime," Anderson openly admitted. "That's the reason why we needed the stealth systems operational."

The commander uncrossed his arms and stood at parade rest. He was receiving a high priority mission briefing from his CO and was going to behave as professional and efficiently as possible. "What's the package?"

"Shepard, this information is on a _strict_ need-to-know basis. Straight from the highest brass. I need to know you understand this before we continue further."

"I understand, sir."

"Very well." The captain began pacing much in the same, slightly worried way the Turian spectre did. "Yesterday at 1630 local time, an archeological research team unearthed some kind of Prothean beacon during an excavation."

"As you are well aware..." Nihlus interjected. "... nearly all of the galaxy's modern technology is based off of Prothean technology."

Anderson nodded in acknowledgement. "The last time Humanity made a discovery like this, it jumped our level of technological advancement forward by two hundred years. However, Eden Prime doesn't have the facilities to handle something like this. Let alone examine and study it. Because of this, the _Normandy_ has been tasked with bringing the beacon to the Citadel for proper research."

The commander spared a few seconds to take all of this in before looking back to the spectre. "And I'm assuming this is the true reason you're here?"

"The beacon is not the only reason, Shepard," the Turian declared as he walked passed him to stand several yards at his side, facing Anderson.

The captain again nodded. "Nihlus wants to see you in action, Commander. He's here to evaluate you."

Shepard's eyes widened in a fair amount of surprise. "What am I being evaluated for, sir?"

Nihlus answered instead. "The Spectres."

The commander was now very visibly shocked. In all his years as an Alliance marine and N7 operator, he had never even considered the possibility of this kind of career path. Hell, it wasn't even a career path! If he were to become a spectre, he would essentially become a separate entity from the Alliance. One that answered only to the Council itself. To say he had not expected this turn of events was an understatement. "But... why? I'm just a jarhead, sir."

The captain shook his head in disagreement. "You're much more than that."

"There are very few who could have survived what you experienced on Akuze," the Turian said matter-of-factly. "You showed a remarkable will to live and display in survival skills ‒ two particularly useful talents. That's why I forwarded your name as a candidate."

The surprises just kept on mounting up for the commander. For all he knew, the next thing they would say is they could make him superman. "Why would you want a Human in the Spectres?"

For just a brief instance before reverting back to his stale expressionless state, Nihlus became visibly agitated with the indirect accusation. "Not all Turians resent your species. I, for one, despise prejudice whether it be towards my race or another. Others like me see the potential of Humanity. We see what you have to offer to the galactic community and, in turn, to the Spectres." He took a short, but deep breath before continuing. "The Special Tactics and Reconnaissance group is an elite corps. It's very rare we find an individual with the skills necessary to join us. I don't care that you're Human, Shepard. Only your ability to succeed in the mission matters to me."

"I hate to put so much on your shoulders..." Anderson admitted solemnly. "... but Earth needs this, Commander. We're counting on you."

Shepard immediately stood at attention and saluted the Captain. "Just say the word, sir. My marines and I won't let you down."

Anderson had a faint, but sincere smile when the Turian spectre spoke again. "I need to see your skills for myself and will be accompanying you on Eden Prime. It will be the first of several missions together."

The commander nodded approvingly and held out his hand. He smiled contently when Nihlus accepted the gesture. "I know we may not see eye-to-eye and, to be honest, I originally thought I might have to kill you." Much to Shepard's surprise, that elicited a light chuckle from the Turian. "But regardless, it'll be a pleasure to have you join us."

"As for I, Shepard," he said with a nod as he released his hand. "I look forward to working with you and these 'Recon Marines' of yours."

"You have your mission, Commander," Anderson said, his professionalism and seriousness having returned. "You are to take a single squad, secure the dig site, and extract the beacon onto the _Normandy_ ASAP. I've already transferred the LZ and Extraction Point coordinates along with a general map of the area to your omnitool. Make sure to share and go over it with the marines accompanying you."

"Aye, sir."

"Collect your squad and report to the Armory. We should be getting close to..."

The voice of Joker speaking through the ship-board communication network abruptly interrupted Anderson. His tone was laced with urgency and worry. "Captain! We've got a problem!"

"What's wrong, Lieutenant?"

"Transmission from Eden Prime, sir! I'm linking the feed to you now." A few seconds later, a large holographic screen materialized at the back end of the conference room. Almost immediately, the space was filled with the distinct, audible sounds of small arms fire and explosive bursts. The video on display was shaky, but the occasional figure of Alliance marines could be seen. After a few moments of this, the handheld camera that had apparently recorded the skirmish was able to focus in on a female marine wearing custom white armor with a pink jumpsuit underneath. Not long after, the woman ran up to the camera and yelled "Get down," before shoving it to the ground and firing at an unseen enemy. This was followed by more of the same shaking and unfocused blurriness until another marine, wearing the standard Alliance armor set, picked up the camera to face him. "We are under attack and taking heavy casualties! I repeat: heavy casualties! We can't..." A small explosion several yards behind the man caused him to duck down and cover his ears with a yelp. "We need to evac! They came out of nowhere. We need..." A single round suddenly hit the man in the chest before he could finish, making those his last words before the camera fell to the ground with a splash of red blood on the bottom left corner of the lens. Finding itself staring up into the sky with no one holding it, the camera spent the next several seconds or so refocusing. Once it managed to do so, however, what filled the screen next stunned all three in the conference room.

"What the hell?" That was the only thing Shepard managed to say before another marine in the video a moment later picked up the camera and ended the recording.

Joker's voice returned through the com network. "Everything after that cuts out, Captain. No communication traffic ‒ it's all dead."

Anderson wordlessly stared at the static filled screen for a dozen or two seconds. His face showing both confusion and anger. "Reverse by four and a half seconds and hold," he finally said. "I want to have a closer look at that thing we saw." The video proceeded to do as he commanded and when it paused, the strange object they had seen before once again occupied the screen. By all accounts, it looked like a strange, black ship similar in design to an Earth squid. It was impossible to tell the exact size of the mysterious craft without any point of comparison other than Eden Prime's blue sky, but in retrospect it appeared incredibly large. At least as big as an Alliance or Turian dreadnaught. After a few moments of silently viewing the ship, Anderson spoke again. "What's our status, Joker?"

"Seventeen minutes out, sir. Navigation and Communications stations are not detecting any other Alliance ships in the area."

"Take us in, fast and quiet. I'll be reporting to the CIC for direct command in a moment." When Joker cut the com link, the captain looked over to Shepard and Nihlus. "This mission just got a lot more complicated. The primary objective still stands, but your new orders are to recon, record, and report any and all activity you find down there. ROE is as follows: Do not engage unless fired upon. Your mission is to secure that beacon before it falls into enemy hands, whoever the enemy may be. You are not to get bogged down in combat, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Shepard looked at Nihlus and motioned to the door. "I'll meet you down in the cargo hold. Introductions with my marines will have to wait."

"Of course," the spectre nodded to the commander.

Before either of the two could leave the room, however, Anderson called out to them. "Commander. Nihlus." He finished when they both turned back around to face him. "Good luck."

* * *

 _ **Index**_

 _ **VIP: V** ery **I** mportant **P** erson. Typically an individual of high authority, political power, and/or strategic importance in a military situation._

 _ **CO: C**_ _ommanding **O** fficer._

 ** _CIC: C_** _ombat **I** nformation **C** enter._

 _ **LZ:** **L** anding **Z** one._

 ** _G(s):_** _Short for Gravitational Force. The number accompanying it multiplies the equivalent of the force of gravity on Earth. Ex. 3 Gs = 3 times the force of Earth's gravity. 1 G = Earth's standard gravitational pull._

 ** _Sitrep:_** _S_ _hort for ' **Sit** uation **Rep** ort'._

 ** _XO:_** _Executive Officer. Typically the second highest ranking officer on a ship and, in turn, the second-in-command._

 ** _ROE:_** _**R** ules **O** f **E** ngagement. When a unit is deployed to combat in a military situation, the ROE acts as a guideline for when and what to shoot. ROE's can vary between battalions or regiments and are usually mission specific._


	3. C2) Eden Prime

**_A/N: Now some of you might be thinking, "If this is supposed to realistically interpret modern military and the US Marine Corps, why is Shepard still a Navy Commander? Shouldn't he be a Lieutenant Colonel?" Well, I won't answer that question now, but I guarantee you it will be a subject of discussion in the story later on._**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 **Eden Prime**

The air in the cargo bay whipped as if a hurricane was passing through and the space was filled with the sound of heavy winds. The twenty-four marines and single spectre paid no mind, however, as they focused their attention on the large bay door that was now open, revealing the distant surface of the planet far below. The _Normandy_ was preparing to fly over the designated LZ coordinates at an altitude of approximately thirty thousand meters ‒ almost twenty miles high. The silence between all inside was one of both professionalism and uneasiness. For some it was for the HALO jump they were about to perform. For others it was for the first experience of combat they were about to face. Shepard had committed dozens of live combat drops during his career, but for many on the ship it would their first. Marines are trained and, in a way, bred to fight. To become cold-blooded killers. That is what made them marines. But training would never fully overcome human nature. Only experience and a strong mind could do that. And Recon or not, many of them had no idea what to expect. The fear of death always lingered in a warrior's heart and it was especially impactful on those who had never experienced it before. "Check weapons and gear," the commander ordered to the two columns of marines. The only solution he could muster, however temporary it may be, was to keep their minds clear and focused on the task at hand.

They all proceeded to inspect the equipment and parachute of the man or woman in front of them, with that of the last marines' in each line having been checked by two Navy crewmen. As they finished, each marine brought their hand over the shoulder of the other they inspected with a thumbs up, visually telling them their inventory was in order. Shepard and Nihlus, both standing closest to the open bay door, did the same as the marines for each other. "Equipment is green," the commander said when the last person gave the thumbs up. "Prepare for jump!"

Another crewman standing alongside the far wall to the right was keeping track of the time to make sure the marines jumped when they were supposed to. "Ten seconds!"

"This is it, marines," Shepard said before the red signal lights on both bay walls turned green with an audible _BEEP_. "Inches and miles!"

"RAH!" After a final nod to the spectre standing beside him, the commander began for the open air ahead and jumped at the edge of the ramp. The twenty-four souls behind him immediately followed without hesitation, joining the N7 operator in a fall that, for all they knew, could very well be their last. The air transitioned into a beating draft against their chests and the _Normandy_ hastily soared away as it began its ascent back into orbit.

Although the planet beneath was supposed to be one of exotic beauty teeming with greens and blues, the world around them was instead corrupted by an unnatural crimson red. The layer of clouds below added to the vision that they were indeed about to enter the gates of hell itself and even Shepard felt a disturbing chill crawl up his spine. He had seen many skies blackened and polluted by the destruction of battlefields and wars during his life in the Corps, but never had his eyes witnessed such a perverse coloration. The transition from the light blue he had seen during his few visits to the shades before him now was aberrant to say the least. As he, Nihlus, and his marines passed through the thickest layer of cloud cover and the surface of Eden prime approached ever more, the commander began to critically question who or what they could possibly be going up against.

Then they saw it. The very object the video feed in the conference room earlier had displayed. Its sheer size eliminated the doubts of possible failure as it stood vertically at a height that could only be compared to the skyscrapers of Earth's megacities. Its legs, or tentacles if the limbs were to be described by looks, alone dwarfed the small apartments and facilities of the settlement it loomed above. The ominous aura that seemed to surround it oozed a sense of death and destruction, its existence nearly felt by the marines on a physical level. The object was so large that it appeared to move in slow motion every time it shifted in place or lifted a leg. Almost humorously, the sight was something akin to a twentieth century giant monster movie. A giant squid-type beast wreaking havoc on the puny, inferior humans. Unfortunately, the current situation was not at all funny. Nor was the 'monster' in question at all of organic origin. It was clearly an artificial creation, made of a black metal with lines of some kind of blue light separating the several plates of exterior armor.

Shepard shook his head. _Focus_ , he mentally yelled to himself. _Questions and answers can come later_. He looked to the top right corner of his helmet's holographic HUD and read the altimeter. "Ten thousand meters," he informed his fellow divers via radio communicator. As they descended further down, he continued providing updates of their altitude and eventually began reaching the window for optimal chute deployment. "Five thousand... three thousand... one thousand... mark!" At three hundred meters AGL, the commander, his marines, and the accompanying spectre simultaneously pulled the drogue cords of their parachutes. He gave no heed to the expected jerk afterwards as the chute inflated and slowed the speed of his descent down from 120 to 10 miles-per-hour. Luckily due to the lack of a significant wind effecting course projection, he managed to safely steer himself without difficulty to a small, open field of grass ‒ the designated LZ ‒ in the middle of a large wooded area. "Viking Actual, set," he said after landing and discarding the biodegradable parachute set. The other eleven marines in his squad soon followed after in no particular order.

"Viking Three, set."

"Viking Eight, set."

"Viking Two, set."

When the last marine touched down on the fifty-meter-wide oval-shaped field and readied their weapons, Shepard spoke to all of them over the radio. "Everyone setup a three-sixty. Ten-meter spacing." He then flipped a small switch on the back of his helmet to change to the alternate channel on his communicator before speaking again. "Viking to Chaos, message."

Nihlus' voice responded no more than a second later. " _Chaos. Send it._ "

"Be advised, Viking is on deck at LZ Alpha and ready to move. Interrogative, what's the status of Chaos element?"

" _Roger that. Chaos is already on deck and moving to RP. How copy?_ "

The commander snorted amusingly. _The spectre sure acts fast_. "Solid copy, Chaos. Viking is moving to link-up now. Make sure to report anything you find on the way there. Out." Finished with the update on Nihlus and the marines temporarily under his command, he switched his coms back to his squad's frequency. "Everyone form two columns on me and Staff Sergeant Petrovka. We're Oscar Mike to rally with Chaos." He paused only for a moment to take a deep breath. "Let's get this done and go home."

—

"Any particular reason we're takin' orders from a damn Turian?" Corporal Nathan Kennedy did not know whether he should be angry or confused as he continued on the trek through Eden Prime's forest. Watching his sector with his M-8 Avenger assault rifle raised, he did his best to keep his voice down so only Lance Corporal Edward Jackson could properly hear him. "We're Alliance, not some bloody C-SEC."

"Damn straight, brother." Jackson was about ten meters ahead of him in the wedge formation, his buff, 6'1" frame allowing him to act as the squad's second AR and carry the M-76 Revenant in his hands with ease. "Just having him around is bad luck."

Corporal Jenkins, walking another ten meters behind Kennedy in the same pace as the other marines, decided to speak his mind. "Nihlus is a spectre ‒ they're like the Council's N7. It can't be all that bad having him in charge."

"Do you even know what kind of shit spectres do?" Jackson turned his head over his right shoulder with a piercing glare aimed at the corporal. "Mother fuckers are shady. Like... some serious Black Ops shit. And they don't even have to worry about laws or a chain of command."

"I saw a story on the extranet a few months ago," said Kennedy matter-of-factly in his Irish accent. "Said a Salarian spectre blew up a fuckin' school full of kids just to kill some Batarian pirates. And the Council just let him walk away. Said it was ' _acceptable losses_.'" He snorted distastefully. "My arse. Should've put the prick in a cell and thrown away the key."

"Spectres have a bad rep," Jackson declared with a grim shake of his head. "People around them end up dead. I don't know about you guys, but I don't plan on getting fucked over by some Turian Spec Ops douchebag."

"Aye, mate. I'll pray to that."

Jackson swung his left arm up in the air before bringing it back down to his hips with a loud _slap_. "Hell, like we don't got enough shit to deal with. Turians leading Alliance marines. Giant, metal squids..."

"Octopus," Jenkins interrupted.

The other two marines turned to him with confused expressions on their faces. "What?" The ebony skinned AR raised an eyebrow, slightly dumbfounded.

"Octopus," repeated the corporal. "The machine had at about eight legs."

"Wha-..." Jackson was utterly shocked at the stupidity of what the man was saying. "What does it matter how many damn _legs_ it has? Six legs, eight legs, ten legs. I don't give a fuck! All I know is there's a giant, mechanical tentacle-monster rampaging like it's in one of those weird ass Japanese Godzilla movies. With our award winning luck, we'll be seeing Geth next!"

"Oi," interjected an Australian accented voice. "I wouldn't go that far." Its owner, a female marine walking next in line ahead of Jackson, let her M-8 hang from its one-point sling while she stretched out her arms with a satisfied moan. She seemed strangely unfazed by all of the mission's unorthodox circumstances. "The Geth haven't been seen beyond the Veil in hundreds of years," she stated as she raised her rifle back up in her hands. "Why would they care about a Human colony halfway across the galaxy?"

The marines continued on for the next dozen minutes or so in complete silence, heavily contemplating the possibility. Jackson was just a dumb boot and he knew it, so he simply dismissed it all as requiring too much brain power with a lethargic grunt. Kennedy, however, spent quite a bit of time in thought. He always did like to think himself more an intellectual, but that did not mean he was very intelligent by normal standards. Anyone who knew him well enough understood he was smarter than most, but at the end of the day he was still a marine. After deciding there was nothing to say on the matter, he shrugged off the idea and refocused his attention on his sector of fire.

Eventually, after another five minutes of steadily traversing through a forest that appeared strikingly similar to a Northern European one, the two formations of eleven marines and single spectre reached the end of the animal path they had been traveling along. The number of trees too became sparse as it led into a wide grass-covered clearing. About thirty yards past the tree line, however, the ground abruptly came to an end at a steep, rocky cliff side. And out in the distance, surrounded by the reddened world, stood the monster itself about two kilometers away to the Northwest. It almost seemed proud in its malevolent nature, reaching high and mighty into the low altitude clouds above it. " _This is our RP_ ," said Nihlus over the squad-wide radio frequency. " _We're to dig in and hold here until Viking arrives._ " As the marines broke formation and began setting up a three-sixty, using the large rocks or few trees scattered about as cover, the Turian knelt himself down next to a fallen tree trunk in the very center of the perimeter. After spending a few short moments to update the commander over the command net, he returned to Chaos' channel. " _I need three volunteers for recon_."

No longer than a few seconds later did Kennedy, Jackson, and Jenkins run up and drop down next to the spectre. "We volunteer, sir." Kennedy hated referring to Nihlus as 'sir', but made no noticeable indication as he did. He was going to follow orders whether he liked them or not, because even though he had a complete lack of trust in the spectre, he _did_ trust Shepard.

"Good," the Turian said in the metallic voice common among his species, no longer communicating over radio. He lifted his left hand from his Phaeston rifle and pointed toward the cliff with his talon. "Set yourselves up at the edge and begin scouting out the colony. Report whatever you find to me and Shepard once he arrives."

"Wilco," Kennedy acknowledged with a nod before motioning toward the two other marines by his side. "On me, lads." The three marines, with the Irishman in the lead, wasted no time and quickly rushed towards the cliff. All three dropped down to their stomachs and crawled the last five yards to the drop, Jenkins and Kennedy both collapsing their rifles and stowing them on the magnetic holsters on the backs of their armor. Jackson, instead, left the large M-76 he had been carrying on the ground at his side before reaching for his set of rangefinders and lifting them up to his eyes.

For the next several minutes, the three marines quietly scanned the human settlement of Eden Prime, Jenkins taking advantage of the Thermal Imaging feature of his device. As time passed, they grew more nervous and fearful, noticing the considerable lack of movement or activity other than the occasional shifting of the ever present and intimidating colossus. At some point it was too much for Kennedy. "Ye findin' _anythin'_ , Jenkins?"

The younger corporal merely shook his head with a frown. "I'm not picking up anything on thermals. It's like a ghost town. Just… dead." A moment of silence went by before he spoke again in a low whisper. He sounded heartbroken, the usual confidence and bravado now gone. "I'm not even finding bodies. What the hell happened to the people down there?"

"I don't know," answered Jackson while slowly shaking his head. "But everything about this mission has screamed FUBAR from the moment we saw that... _thing_." He sharply pointed at the giant creation in front of them before returning his left hand to his optical device. After another quiet moment, he sighed and looked to his right, resting his sympathetic gaze on Jenkins. Kennedy was laying between the two of them with his attention still focused on his rangefinders. "Weren't you born here on Eden Prime?"

Jenkins' downcast eyes left his own set of rangefinders to look at the grass beneath his chin. "Yeah... I was."

Kennedy finally turned to look at the younger marine with wide eyes. "Ye serious? I had no idea."

"Yep. Lived here my whole life, then enlisted right out of High School." Jenkins slowly returned to his rangefinders and let another number of still seconds pass. "Seeing it like this... my _home_... I barely recognize it."

"Don't think about it too much," Kennedy said as he thoughtfully patted the other marine's shoulder a couple times. "Whoever did this, we'll knock their fuckin' teeth in and bury the pricks six feet under. Ye have my word, mate."

Jackson abruptly interrupted before Jenkins could make a reply. "Sorry to cut into your little moment, but I got eyes on something. Bearing two-eight-three. One-one-three-five meters. It looks like..." He paused briefly as his expression contorted in what could only appear to be disgust and anger. "What the _fuck_?"

The other two marines were startled by the man's sudden enmity and hastily attempted to find whatever he had referred to. When they finally spotted the objects in question, using the directions provided, both of their faces turned pale. Jenkins, a foul nausea causing his stomach to churn, almost immediately dropped his rangefinders and turned away. All Kennedy could muster after a long silence, never letting his eyes drift from the sight before him now, was a low and disturbed "Bloody hell," before activating his communicator. "Nihlus, sir?"

" _Go ahead_ ," was the nearly instantaneous reply from the spectre.

"Ye, uh... might want to take a look at this yaself."

"... _Stand by._ " It took only a few moments for the Turian to turn up and lay down at the cliff side to the left of Jackson. He shot a curious glance at the ill-looking Jenkins, but otherwise ignored him. "What have you found?"

Jackson simply handed Nihlus his rangefinders without turning his gaze away from the direction of what he had seen. "South of the dig site at two-eight-three. Range is one-one-three-five meters."

The spectre wordlessly accepted the gadget and brought it up to his eyes. Only a few seconds passed before his jaw and mandibles slackened by what he saw. "Spirits..." Over a kilometer away in a small, rocky valley, not very far from the southern perimeter of the excavation site, were six alien devices with long metal spikes protruding out of them. At the tip of every lance was a Human person, impaled at least ten yards high through their very stomachs and soaking the metal beneath with pools of thick read blood. Nihlus had witnessed many corrupt and often monstrous deeds as a spectre, but never had he ever seen something so... _barbaric_. Even he shuddered at the unsettling sight. "This must be reported to the Council at once."

—

 _Run_ , she told herself. _Don't look back!_ It had been this very idea that had kept her alive thus far. When everyone else was dying around her, this is what saved her. When the synthetics dragged away the people she had come to consider her friends, both the living and dead, it was these words that had prevented her from getting skewered through her intestines like all of the others. There was no alternative. She had to run. She had fought for so long and so hard, her platoon having been the last to fall after hours of constant combat. And it was for nothing. The enemy still prevailed. And she still ran. She tried to convince herself she was not a coward. It was only natural she tried to escape. She would have died otherwise ‒ was that not a fair reasoning? Down to nothing but her M-3 Predator heavy pistol, her M-8 rifle having been rendered unusable by enemy fire nearly cutting it right in half, she had known she would not survive long under chase. No food. No water. No medical supplies. All the necessities for basic, long-term survival had been left behind at the barracks when her squad had departed for their daily patrol. Without them or a decent rifle, her odds were... minimal at best.

So when, after traveling nearly two kilometers on foot, she had managed to miraculously stumble upon a squad of troops wearing the standard woodland MARPAT camo of the Alliance marines on their armor, she had thought God himself had looked down on her from the heavens and granted mercy. She fell to her knees at the sight, only her right arm supporting her weight with the aid of a tree trunk. A tear welled up in her eyes and fell down her cheek to meet her modest smile. She found help. She was saved. But her legs would not move. They felt numb and lifeless as she suddenly found herself being devoured by a darkness emerging from the corner of her eyes. Her body no longer wanted to respond to her commands and the oxygen in her lungs seemed to relentlessly leak from her chest.

With rescue in sight, the expended marine collapsed to the ground face first as her world was consumed by the color black, the insufferable exhaustion and fatigue finally overpowering her.

—

"Set her down here," barked Kaidan Alenko, guiding the two men carrying the female marine in their arms to a flat patch of grass in the center of the formation. He had his omnitool activated before they finished setting her down and immediately began scanning the woman for whatever medical condition that had caused her to faint. After a few seconds, he slid his arm under her legs and lifted them about a foot in the air while his other hand moved to her chin and gently tilted her head back. "I need water."

"Here's my canteen," said one of the marines that had retrieved the woman, offering the container of water in his hands. He, Sergeant Hideo Kurokawa, and Corporal Martin Foster were the ones who spotted her when she approached the squad from the East a minute earlier. They were just about to give her the challenge word when she abruptly fell unconscious no more than a mere two hundred yards away. Without hesitation, they proceeded to alert the commander and Corspman Alenko as they rushed to her aid.

Alenko took the canteen and nodded in thanks before placing it on the ground at his side. He only took notice of Shepard when the N7 operator knelt down next to the female marine's feet, his rifle now collapsed on his back. "What's wrong with her, Doc?"

"She fainted from a combination of exhaustion and dehydration. As long as her airways stay clear and she doesn't stop breathing, she should wake up shortly." The corpsman's attention remained on the woman, his left thumb on her chin keeping her head tilted while his other fingers monitored her pulse. "She needs rest, Commander. I don't recommend she moves unsupported when she wakes up."

Shepard nodded in agreement. "She must have been through hell." He continued to stare upon the unconscious figure before him for a few moments longer, wondering what exactly she had to survive. She was absolutely filthy, dirt and grime coating her short ponytail and face without a helmet. Even with the clearly evident signs of a worn out soldier, her features were, frankly, attractive if not a bit tomboyish. Her white armor with pink jumpsuit underneath... "Wait," he said as it clicked in his head. "I know her!"

Alenko cocked an eyebrow and finally lifted his gaze. "You do, sir?"

The commander lightly shook his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Not exactly. The distress signal the _Normandy_ picked up? She was in it." He pointed at the woman for emphasis. "I recognize the armor."

The corpsman snorted. "Well, it definitely isn't Alliance standard. It's been customized with an upgraded medical interface and, obviously, a new paint scheme."

"Have you ID'd her?"

"Not yet," he admitted disappointingly. "I need to make sure her blood flow and breathing stays normal. Haven't had the chance to look at her tags."

Shepard simply nodded again before shifting around to kneel at the woman's left side, opposite of Alenko. He reached over her chest and took hold of the string of metal beads around her neck. Her dog tags were sunk low beneath her armor and he had to tug at them a bit to get them out. To say he was surprised when he leaned forward and read the imprinted information was an understatement. "Williams... Ashley Williams."

The surrounding men in ear shot immediately looked at the commander in shock. Even Alenko was wide-eyed. "Isn't that..."

Corporal Foster interrupted the corpsman as he knelt beside Shepard. "Can I take a look, sir?" The N7 operator simply placed the tags back on the woman's neck before maneuvering to give his marine some room. Foster snatched the tags almost as soon as there were put down. "No way," he said a moment later before looking up to his peers. "It can't be the same family, could it?"

"It could just be the same last name, but..." Sergeant Kurokawa shrugged. "I don't know."

Alenko's expression turned to one of confused curiosity. "If it is the real deal, why would she be posted here of all places? With a heritage like hers, she should have a command position in the fleet, not running patrols on colonies in the edge of Alliance space."

"Maybe she just didn't make the cut," stated Foster once he put the tags back down. "Wasn't any better than your average boot."

Shepard shook his head in disagreement. "Or maybe it was her family name to begin with." To this the three marines and Navy corpsman fell into a mutual silence, their thoughts seriously considering the commander's words. Before they could delve and speculate deeper into the issue, however, a slight movement of the woman's head caught their attention. A soft groan escaped Williams' lips as Alenko dropped her legs and pulled his hand away from her chin. Kurokawa and Foster both held their breaths and did not exhale until her eyes slowly, but steadily opened to reveal their dark brown.

—

'Tired' could not have even begun to describe how Ashley Williams felt when she awoke. In addition to being completely drained of energy, she found herself incredibly thirsty as well. Her throat felt dry and her lips were chapped. She had thankfully digested a respectable meal earlier in the morning, so hunger had fortunately not claimed her yet. Regardless, several hours of consecutive combat with an unrelenting and overpowering enemy force had, quite literally, nearly sucked the life out of her. She had just watched her entire company be decimated... no, _destroyed_. Every single brother and sister-in-arms she had learned to care for and appreciate after several months had died in front of her very eyes. She was the sole survivor, the fact slowly killing her inside. Perhaps she should have died with them. Fought to the last minute with honor and dignity. At least the Williams name would have finally been remembered in a new light. But instead, she merely continued the legacy of a family of cowards, who either surrendered or ran in the face of a brutal enemy.

"... Williams?" The robust, masculine voice pulled her out of the depths of her mind. Her eyes, which refused to open further than halfway beforehand, abruptly snapped open. The very first thing she saw was a marine hovering above her, his woodland MARPAT breather helmet covering his face. His emerald green eyes, however, pierced through its transparent visor and seemingly into her soul. "Miss Williams?"

"Y... yeah," she acknowledged groggily. "That's me."

The man responded to her straightforward and lazy reply with a light chuckle. "Welcome back." Only now, when the marine lifted his gaze and nodded, did Williams notice the other man kneeling down next to her on the opposite side of the first. His armor was different, instead camouflaged in the Navy's AOR2 pattern. "The Doc here will take care of you. You're under a large amount of stress and exhaustion, so take it easy and let him work his magic."

After she nodded in understanding, the other man, apparently a corpsman, gently slid his hand under her head and lifted it while his free one just as carefully brought an open canteen to her mouth. "It's just water," he assured in a light Canadian accent. "You're badly dehydrated." The encouragement was unnecessary. With the sensation of something wet against her lips, she immediately and almost desperately took the container in a death grip and jugged its contents. She had never been so relieved by a simple refreshment. "Woah there," the navy man said as he tried, fruitlessly, to slightly pull back the canteen. "Don't drown yourself, now."

After another couple seconds of restlessly guzzling down the water, she pushed it away with a deep, audible breath of fresh air. With another look at the green-eyed marine, she saw, for the first time, the red and white stripes that ran the length of his right arm from the shoulder down to his wrist. Imprinted on his left shoulder was a symbol with three bars and a single star above them. Not only was this guy ranked Commander, he was also N7. "Sir," she said with the realization. "Gunnery Sergeant Ashley Williams, Bravo Company of the two-four."

"It's good to see you levelheaded, Williams." The officer let loose another soft chuckle. "I'm Commander Shepard of the _SSV Normandy_ , here with a small contingent of the Sixth Recon Battalion."

"Recon..." Williams closed her eyes and sighed. "I assume you're here for the beacon, sir?"

"That indeed remains our primary objective, Gunnery Sergeant. But let's just say our mission parameters... updated when we received your distress signal."

"That's an understatement," snorted the corpsman, still performing medical scans with his omnitool.

An amused smile spread across the woman's face. "Never thought I'd be happy to see Recon. If we make it off planet, remind me I owe you a beer, sir."

Shepard was unable to suppress a laugh. "Copy that." He chose then to stand up and retrieve the M-8 Avenger assault rifle from his back, still looking down at the Gunnery Sergeant. Though she was only able to see his eyes, she could tell his expression changed to one of complete seriousness. "We're moving on to link up with our sister element in one mike. Will she be able to walk on her own, Doc?"

"I don't advise it." The corpsman shook his head before deactivating his omnitool with a regretful sigh and looking up to the commander. "Give her a few more moments to lay down and recuperate. After that, I'll let her go on as long as someone keeps an eye on her."

"Sounds good to me," said Shepard as he flipped off the safety of his rifle, powering up the small Mass Effect generator inside. "You have..." Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of distant, but heavy gunfire swiftly interrupted his train of thought.

—

The distinct discharges of M-8 rifle fire and a couple M-76 Revenants filled the air, originating from no more than several hundred yards away. However, as the commander paid closer attention to his hearing, he noticed something else mixed in. There were shots, just as numerous, that sounded... different, like no firearm he had encountered before. Yet he could not shake off this feeling of familiarity. As if he had heard this disparate noise before. Staff Sergeant Dima Petrovka, his second-in-command, soon emerged from a thick bush along the defensive perimeter and rushed to Shepard in response to the situation. "Those shots are coming from our direct North, sir." His Russian-accented voice was calm and composed, displaying the man's appreciated ability to remain cool and collected. "It sounds like its coming from the Rally Point."

The commander did not hesitate to switch to his communicator's alternate channel with the command net frequency. "Viking to Chaos. We have a heavy audible on automatic rifle fire from the direction of the RP, how copy?" A dozen seconds passed without an answer before he tried again. "Viking to Chaos, do you read?" Only more silence followed.

"Commander?" Alenko, who now had Williams sitting up with her arm stretched over his shoulder and around his neck, was not attempting to gain his attention. It was a simple, one-word question.

"We've lost radio communication with Chaos." He looked to Petrovka. "Gather the squad on the Northern side of the perimeter in two firing lines ‒ we've got friendlies in contact. I want us on the move to reinforce their position _now_. Foster," he called out before the corporal and Sergeant Kurokawa, who were already running off to the regroup point as per the new orders, could get too far. "Give the Doc a hand with Williams. You three are to stay a hundred meters behind the formations and pull security."

"Aye, aye, sir." Foster returned to aid Alenko as quickly as his legs could carry him and placed Williams' other arm around the nape of his neck. "I got your back, Gunny." The woman merely grunted in response, clearly upset with her circumstances.

The commander turned back to his staff sergeant, prepared to begin moving out, when his radio crackled to life with the voice of Nihlus. "... _-aos to Vikin-_... _are under_..."

His hand instantly returned to the side of his helmet, activating the communicator. "Viking to Chaos, we read you, but your transmission is cluttered. Say again your last." He waited a few seconds and started to believe they cut out again when his radio picked up more scattered communications.

"... _-emy patrol. We are_... _-eavy fire. I say again, we've e-_..."

"We are having a lot of trouble reading you. Can you describe the enemy force?"

" _They_... _jamming radio_ _communi_... _hostile contacts are of ge-_..." The signal was slowly improving as time went on, a tech specialist in Choas apparently doing their best to counter whatever was obstructing the com network. However, Shepard nearly froze in place at the last word. It was horribly garbled, but he thought he picked up just enough to figure out what it was. With that in mind, everything began to make sense. The strange, massive vessel that's design had never been witnessed before. The advanced, nearly complete jamming of all communications on the planet; the reason why only the _Normandy_ acquired the distress signal as it entered the system. He finally realized what that other gunfire he had been hearing was. It was something he had only experienced once in his life during N7 training, when he and all of the other candidates were taught how to recognize the differing forms of galactic weaponry by ear alone. What he heard now were _pulse_ rifles, their distinct sound due to the high-energy phasic slugs they fired. And there was only one faction in the galaxy that was known to utilize such weapons.

In the hopes that he was dead wrong, Shepard wanted ‒ _needed_ ‒ confirmation. "Chaos, I need you to send that again. _What_ is the enemy force?"

"... _Geth!_ "

* * *

 _ **Index**_

 _ **HALO: H** igh- **A** ltitude **L** ow- **O** pen. A method of High-Altitude Military Parachuting, or Military Free Fall (MFF), typically used by Special Forces units to stealthily insert behind enemy lines._

 ** _HUD:_** _**H** eads- **U** p **D** isplay._

 ** _AGL:_** _**A** bove **G** round **L** evel._

 ** _Three-Sixty:_** _A specific form of a military defensive formation. Also called an 'All-Around Defence'. Consists of soldiers forming a wide, circular perimeter around the highest-ranking individual._

 ** _Interrogative:_** _A word used in military communications to relay to the receiving end that the speaker will be immediately asking a question, typically one of importance and/or high-priority._

 ** _RP:_** _**R** ally **P** oint._

 ** _Oscar Mike:_** _NATO phonetic alphabet for 'O' and 'M'. **O** n the **M** ove._

 ** _AR:_** _**A** utomatic **R** ifleman. A_ _member of a fireteam designated and trained, typically, with the use of an automatic support weapon such as a LMG._

 ** _Wilco: Wil_** _l **Co** mply._

 ** _FUBAR: F_** _**ked **U** p **B** eyond **A** ll **R** ecognition._

 ** _MARPAT:_** _**Mar** ine **Pat** tern. In the real world, MARPAT serves as the standard camouflage pattern of the United States Marine Corps infantry uniform. It comes in two variants: Woodland and Desert. In MARSOC, or Marine Special Operations Command, MARPAT Woodland is typically replaced by the M81 pattern._

 ** _AOR1/AOR2:_** _AOR is the US Navy's own variation of MARPAT used by the majority of their ground-based forces. Typically lighter in color than its Marine counterpart, AOR also comes in two variants: Desert (AOR1) and Woodland (AOR2). Navy Corpsman who are delegated to Marine platoons wear AOR instead of MARPAT, as they are still considered members of the Navy, not the Marine Corps._

 _ **"two-four" Explanation:** The United States Marine Corps is structured by three types of MAGTFs (Marine Air-Ground Task Force): Marine Expeditionary Force (MEF; the largest form of a MAGTF), Marine Expeditionary Brigade (MEB), and Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU; the smallest). MEFs normally consist of one to three MEUs, one Marine Division (MD), one Marine Aircraft Unit, and one Marine Logistics Group. Each Marine Division typically consists of four Marine Regiments, and each regiment usually consists of four Marine Battalions separated into three companies each (five if you include the service/weapons and HQ companies). When a Marine identifies what part of the Corps they belong to, they might say something like "Bravo Company of the one-five." This means they are part of the First Battalion of the Fifth Marine Regiment, and as the Fifth Marine Regiment is, in the real world, part of the 1st Marine Division, they belong to the I Marine Expeditionary Force. When Williams says she is part of the two-four, she is saying she is part of Second Battalion, Fourth Marine Regiment of the 3rd MD, III MEF. (A/N: I wanted to use the two-twelve, because that would have been an awesome coincidence, but unfortunately the 12th is an artillery regiment, not infantry. Oh well.)_


	4. C3) Contact

_**A/N: For the sake of explanation... the long horizontal lines, such as the one below the Author's Note, is used to mark the beginning/end of a chapter, while mid-story they are used to represent the passage of time and (sometimes) a change in character pov. The shorter dashes that are used mid-story represent a change in point-of-view without the passage of time. Hope that clears that up!**_

 ** _A/N #2: I have not done it yet, but in the future I will start putting in ME-like Codex entries in addition to the Index. This will be used to inform readers of any AU-esque aspects they come across, such as the USMC inspired Alliance Marine Corps of_ The Hunt.**

 ** _With that in mind, I hope you all continue to read and enjoy my story, even with this shorter than average chapter! And remember, reviews, both positive and negative, are always appreciated! :D_**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 **Contact**

"I _hate_ when I'm right!" Jackson had to yell over the oppressive atmosphere of active combat. Bullets and phasic rounds shot through the air in all directions, tearing through vegetation, stone, and flesh alike. Hardly anything else echoed above the discharges of various small arms and the occasional explosion of a grenade. Only the robotic, nightmare-inducing clicking noises of the Geth's synthetic form of communication could be heard just as vividly. "More coming in from the Southwest," he warned after spotting another group of shock troopers attempting to breach the squad's flank. He picked up his M-76 from the rock he had been using as a shooting position aimed to the South and crawled several yards under gunfire to the fallen trunk of a tree, it having been knocked down by an enemy RPG. He immediately began to lay down suppressive fire as soon as he redeployed the bipod and rested the LMG, firing several short, controlled bursts into the enemy formation.

Kennedy crouched down beside the AR, taking advantage of the bogged down synthetic soldiers to take less frequent, but more accurate kills shots. "You and me both, mate!" He fired a concussive shot into the chest of a rocket trooper before ducking back down into cover.

After a few more bursts of fire, Jackson's Revenant suddenly stopped firing with an audible _click_ and a sound similar to steam being released. "Shit, I'm overheated," he declared as he detached his M-3 sidearm from its magnetic clamp. Without the continued suppression from his M-76, the enemy squad to their front were free to approach with much less molestation.

"Frag out!" Corporal Jenkins, who had himself glued to a large, old tree about ten yards to the left, quickly leaned out of cover and tossed a fragmentation grenade at an explosive crater occupied by two enemy troopers. A moment later, the Geth were encompassed by a small cloud of dirt and their bodies were torn apart by the resulting shrapnel. His satisfaction, however, was hastily interrupted by at least a dozen phasic shots hitting his tree, forcing the marine to remain in cover. The sheer size and thickness of the tree yielded the rounds from piercing through to kill him. "We're getting smoked!"

"Yeah, no shit!" Jackson jumped out of cover only long enough to fire three well-aimed shots from his hand cannon. The first two broke the shields of a shock trooper while the third one blew apart the flashlight it called a head. "Sergeant," he called over the radio. "What's our East looking like?"

The German accent of an older women, Sergeant Marelda Amsel, responded. " _Not good, Jackson!_ " She paused briefly to fire a short burst from her rifle. " _The Geth are advancing in force on all sides. We are completely surrounded!_ "

"Where the fuck is Nihlus?"

" _He's on the Northeastern flank engaging the bulk of the ene-_..." Amsel abruptly cried out in pain before she cut out. A few seconds later, the loud call of someone yelling "corpsman" was heard from the direction of her position.

"Dammit!" Jackson slammed his armored fist against the dead tree trunk. The intensity of the Geth fire no longer allowed either him or Kennedy to peak out of cover. All they could do now was lift their weapons over their heads and blind fire. "There's way too many of these clickers!"

Kennedy lowered himself to a crawl and inched his way several yards to the branches of the fallen tree. He found a small opening through the foliage and fired a few bursts from his rifle. "Bastards must've known where we were!"

"R-P-G!" A Geth rocket trooper about forty yards further in the forest fired its armament before Jenkins even finished his warning.

The unguided projectile flew just a few feet over Jackson's head, nearly skimming the top of his cover. Realizing just how close he was to being blown apart, he performed the Christian sign of the cross with his hand. _God, that was a little too close_ , he thought to himself as he shifted a few yards down the log, closer to the point where its timber was obliterated. With the enemy fire slightly more focused on his previous position, he managed to turn out just long enough to find the rocket trooper and fire several rounds before retreating back into cover. Most of his shots missed and the single one that landed home was absorbed by the machine's shields. "Can somebody kill that fucker before he blows my balls off?"

"He's down," declared Kennedy after a couple rifle bursts. It was followed by Jackson giving him a thumbs up.

"INCOMING!" The sudden outcry in the distance radically grabbed the attention of all three pinned down marines. They turned to look to the Northeast, the direction it originated from, to see a glowing sphere of plasma-like energy bolt out from deep within the far woods at an incredibly high speed. It struck a sizable stone formation sticking out of the ground about sixty yards away with a thunderous explosion, the shockwave flinging two marines, or what remained of them, in the air like ragdolls. A moment later, the large, four-legged equivalent of a Geth tank emerged from the forest, knocking down any tree standing in its way. The machine's long 'neck' reached high into the air to lead to the 'head' that contained the Siege Pulse Cannon. Its coaxial HMG sprayed the defensive arrangement of the Alliance marines standing before it, claiming the life of another who was unable to take cover fast enough.

Kennedy crawled back to Jackson's side, the Geth troopers still raining fire on their position having learned where he had been shooting from. "Fuck me right up the arse!"

"Won't have to wait too much longer with that Armature here." Jackson yanked a grenade from its holster on the front of his armor, stared at it for a split second as he realized it was his last one, and then pulled the pin before blindly tossing it overhead. "Frag out!"

Kennedy grunted distastefully. "Jenkins! Ye might want to get ya arse over here and..." When he finally turned his gaze to the younger corporal's position, what he saw stopped his words dead in their tracks. On the ground, beside the tree he had originally taken cover behind, was Jenkins laid on his back. His blood soaked hands were frantically grasping at his neck between his helmet and his armor's chest plate. "Oh shyt, Jenkins' been hit!" Kennedy, acting on instincts, practically threw his M-8 into his companion's arms. "Cover me!"

Through his helmet's visor, Jackson shot a look of complete disbelief at his fellow marine. He absolutely could not believe what the man was intending to do. "Are you _crazy_?!"

"Yer bloody right I am," the Irish marine declared as he began a mad dash towards Jenkins. After a half-dozen yards or so, he yelled out to anyone in the steadily diminishing squad that could hear him. "Corpsman!"

"You're gonna get- oh, fuck!" The lance corporal, with his friend foolishly running out into the open and attracting the fire of every Geth nearby, had no other choice but to shut up and focus his attention back to the synthetics who had managed to reach within thirty yards of his log. He raised himself up, rested his rifle on the top of the cover, and immediately began spitting out rounds in long, inaccurate bursts. At this point, he was not trying to make intentional kill shots. He was simply attempting to suppress the enemy troopers long enough to give Kennedy a chance to reach his destination. And by some sheer luck or a work of God, and to his utter amazement, it actually worked. About fifteen seconds later, the corporal slid back behind the fallen tree. But without Jenkins. "The hell happened," Jackson asked bitterly as he collapsed into cover.

Kennedy closed his eyes with a visible sorrow. "He's dead. Slug went right through his throat and he bled out in seconds."

"Poor bastard." Jackson shook his head before shoving the rifle into the other man's chest. "Take your damn rifle back. My Revenant‒" He patted the LMG laying on the ground by his feet. "‒should be cooled off by now."

"Aye." Kennedy nodded with a sigh. "This is goin' to be a long fuckin' day."

The lance corporal chuckled as he took the M-76 in his hands and prepared to once again rise above cover. "You're singing to the choir." A short moment passed before he turned to the corporal, the smile under his mask gone and his eyes showing a burning determination. "You ready?"

"Never been more ready, mate."

Jackson lifted and aimed his closed hand at Kennedy. "Semper Fi." After the two bumped fists, they both raised themselves above the protection of the dead tree and rained down a frenzy of deadly fire upon any unfortunate Geth in their sights.

—

"We're in position." Sergeant Kurokawa, laying prone in the dirt and grass with a thin bush serving as his only form of visual protection, rested his crosshairs on the head of a Geth Destroyer assaulting the Eastern flank of Chaos. _In... out._ He slightly shifted in place, adjusting his M-92 Mantis to feel more comfortable with his shooting position and improve his odds of an effective shot. _In... out_. He then flipped the ambidextrous safety off with his thumb and placed his index finger on the trigger. The bolt-action sniper rifle was hot and live, ready to fire with lethal precision. _In... out..._

" _Copy that_ ," replied Shepard over the radio, his voice intermingled with some interfering static. He and the rest of Viking were located about one hundred and twenty meters West of the sergeant's sniper nest ‒ about a hundred meters away from the rear flank of the Geth force currently on the verge of overrunning their sister squad. " _Do you have a clear shot?_ "

The sergeant temporarily lifted his helmetless head away from the Mantis' scope, giving himself a brief chance to brush a few strands of his jet black hair to the side of his face. "Affirm. Ready to fire on your mark."

" _Roger._ " There was a short pause before the commander continued. " _All are clear engage in three... two... one..._ " Originating from the second combat line on the right, an unguided missile launched with a loud _BOOM_ and rocketed out towards the Geth Armature standing in the grass field over three hundred yards away from Kurokawa. Shepard and Alenko synchronized their overload attacks with the strike, the more electronically experienced corpsman targeting the armored vehicle while the commander prioritized the Destroyer. At the same time, the nine others in Viking, having carefully picked their targets beforehand, opened up with their small arms. The closest groups of troopers, their backs turned to the marines, fell in a heartbeat. The Armature processed these events within nanoseconds and tried turning to oppose its new enemy, but it was hastily dispatched by the HEAT rocket slamming into the left side of its main body before anything useful could be accomplished.

Seeing the Geth Destroyer's shields wink out with an electronic pulse and die, the sergeant squeezed the trigger. His sniper rifle barked and kicked back into his shoulder with a heavy, but manageable recoil as it released a mass accelerated metal slug into the synthetic's unprotected metal skull. The now headless machine dropped to the ground like a doll with its strings cut. "Down and out," confirmed his spotter, Corporal Foster. He was laying down to the left of his higher ranking companion as he viewed the battlefield with his handheld spotting scope. Gunnery Sergeant Williams, who he was ordered to watch over, sourly watched it all from ten meters behind. "New target. Bearing two-five-one. Three-three-six meters."

"Eyes on," Kurokawa said when the rocket trooper entered his scope. The synthetic was suppressing two of Chaos' marines and keeping them bogged down behind a fallen tree with a steady stream of explosive ordinance.

"Fire when ready."

 _In... out._ The sergeant was rewarded with another exploding flashlight after he pulled the trigger again. The M-97's larger slug size and higher velocity was able to penetrate the Geth's weaker shields like they were nonexistent.

"Good kill." Foster paused for a few moments as he searched for another set of targets. "Lone contact, bearing- scratch that." He watched as the trooper he found was lifted into the air as if someone had simply turned off gravity with the flip of a switch. A blue aura of energy surrounded its body until several rounds tore through for the kill. "Goddamn Doc and his biotics."

That caused a feint chuckle from Kurokawa. "Corpsman lead the way."

The corporal just shook his head in response before looking back into his scope. "Got a group of three, bearing two-four-eight. Moving Southwest to Northeast at three-five-zero meters. Clickers are getting close to our guys."

The sergeant initially had trouble finding them at first through the thick layer of forest, but eventually spotted the three shock troopers as they moved through the foliage. "I tally."

"Fire when ready."

 _In... out._ In quick succession, Kurokawa fired three rounds from his sniper rifle, performing the bolt-action as fast as his hands could move after each shot. All three claimed a machine's head, the sniper happily adding them to his total confirmed kill count.

Foster whistled with an impressed smile and lifted his closed right fist. "Three shots, three kills. Fucking kickass, Sergeant."

A toothy grin spread across Kurokawa's face as he accepted the offered gesture. "Just another day's work, brother."

* * *

To say Nihlus was impressed with the performance of the Human marines, especially that of Commander Shepard's leadership, was an understatement. He was still a young child in the Turian colonies when the Relay 314 Incident occurred and, as such, never had the opportunity to witness the audacity of Humanity's ground forces in live combat. Though the squad of marines the commander had placed under his command was only twelve strong, they managed to gallantly stand their ground for well over five full minutes against an aggressive and relentless enemy force larger than their own. Though that may have seemed like such a meager defense to some, five minutes in constant, adrenaline rushing combat often felt like hours for those stuck in the mud and blood. In all honesty and fairness, the Turian never once expected he would lead such a unit of well trained and determined soldiers, let alone a Human one at that. Of course, he knew how far many of their distrust for him went, even if they never said it directly. But in the end they followed his orders to the letter. Likely from the much stronger trust they held for their leader. That, in and of itself, spoke more than enough to satisfy the spectre. And speaking of the marines' leader... "Commander," he called out to the man, adorned in his Onyx armor camouflaged in the pattern they called 'MARPAT'.

Shepard was standing over the wreckage of the Geth Armature, the scorched hole in its side caused by the anti-tank weapon strike showing a chaotic and still burning display of electronic wiring and motherboards. He did not turn to face the Turian as he spoke with a solemn softness. "Nihlus. Looks like you made it out okay."

"Yes," the spectre said in his usual, dispassionate voice. "And you've played no small part in that." The commander did not give the slightest of responses. He merely continued to stare at the Armature corpse in a thoughtful silence. After a few moments of this laconism, Nihlus began to sense the tension and interpret the meaning behind it. "Although, I understand that not everyone had the same luxury."

To this Shepard tilted his head down, his eyes visibly downcast through the side of his helmet's visor. Shortly afterwards, he finally looked to the Turian. "We both know that's just the way it is." He closed his eyes, nodded to himself, and then sighed before opening them again. "Okay. Let's see who we lost, then figure out how to proceed with the mission." The spectre simply nodded in agreement before the commander began walking toward the temporary CCP that had been established way back in the tree line. After about a hundred meters, they saw Alenko and, surprisingly, Williams walking along the row of black body bags lined up along a narrow stream of water that cut through the forest. Nihlus immediately took notice of the Human woman's unique armor and questioningly turned to Shepard, who knew what the Turian was thinking right away. "Survivor we found stumbling half-dead in the woods. One of the marines originally stationed on the planet." He snorted. "A bit funny, really."

"Why is that?"

"Her name's Williams."

"Ah..." The spectre focused his attention and brief curiosity on the Human female, who was apparently performing some form of ritual over each corpse. "I guess I can see the irony." He turned back to the commander. "What is she doing?"

Shepard shrugged. "Don't really know, to be honest." He watched as Williams raised her right hand to her forehead, brought it down to her chest, and then moved it to her left and right shoulders, in that order, before moving to the next body bag. "I think it might have something to do with her being a follower of one of my species' religions. Catholicism or Christianity; can't tell which."

"I've done a small amount of research into Humanity's various forms of spirituality," Nihlus said matter-of-factly. "It can often get... difficult... to differentiate between one and the other."

The commander chuckled lightly with a half-smile. "You're telling me. Doc Alenko!" That almost instantly grabbed the attention of the corpsman, who had been busy identifying the bodies. "What's our total count?"

A tired and somber expression was spread across Alenko's face as he stood up from his crouched position. He slowly rubbed the back of his neck and waited until Shepard and the spectre approached close enough where he needed not to yell. "Seven dead, two critically wounded, and three minor injuries."

Shepard shook his head disapprovingly with a frown. "Too damn many. Our combat effectiveness was cut right in half."

"We can't get hit like that again, sir," the corpsman declared with a nod.

The commander closed his eyes for a few moments and took a deep breath. "Have you ID'd all of them," he asked with a brief point of the finger to the body bags.

Alenko looked over the row of corpses before reluctantly nodding his head. "Yeah. Just finished collecting their tags and going through the names."

"Send me the list."

The corpsman cocked an eyebrow. "Sir?"

"Their names, Doc." Shepard maintained his gaze, looking directly into the other man's eyes as he poked his right forearm a couple times. His expression was firm and commanding. "Give me the list of their names."

"Oh, right." Alenko activated his omnitool and began typing in commands. A moment passed before he looked back up. "Sent, sir."

The commander turned on and checked his own omnitool for the successful download before nodding in confirmation. "Go prep the wounded and Velasquez to move out. We're gone in five. That'll be all."

Aenko meekly nodded again and started walking towards the only other corpsman attached to _Normandy_ 's marine contingent, the man in question currently giving aid to the group of wounded resting about thirty yards away from the end of the row of corpses. "Aye, sir."

—

Shepard watched as Alenko distanced himself and finally turned back to his omnitool when the man was far enough away. A small, but highly significant list of seven names and serial numbers now occupied its holographic screen. He read each and every single one carefully, making sure to engrave them all into his mind and add them to the ever growing list of men and women he would never soon forget. They were the marines who gave the ultimate sacrifice while under his command. To allow their names to fade away from his memory would have been the worst of sins. Worthy of nothing better than a long afterlife in hell. The commander held no delusions that when his time came he would be accepted into the kingdom of heaven if such a place truly existed after death. He merely held on to the hope that, if he ended up running into someone he knew, he would not be damned for eternity by those who fell under him. _A very mortal and reasonable wish_ , he liked to think.

After he read over the final name, another breathy exhale escaped the commander's lips as he started slowly walking to the farthest body bag, proceeding one step at a time and sharing a simple nod with the Gunnery Sergeant as they passed each other. He stopped once he reached the feet of the cadaver and, for the next several long moments, stared at the soulless body. His gaze remained fixed and unmoving during the entirety he stood there until he eventually moved to crouch at the corpse's side. He lifted his hand and reached out for the closed zipper at the top of the head, but froze above it. For a few more seconds he idly hovered over the metal slider, his thoughts wandering, before he finally brought up the courage to face one of the consequences of his leadership. With a combination of both a reluctance to complete the task and a determination to move on from it, he opened the zipper to reveal the lifeless face of Richard Jenkins. It was already pale from the lack of blood circulation and his eyes had been closed shut by whomever collected him. Wrapped around his neck was a layer of field dressings, respectfully hiding from sight the hole caused by the Geth slug that ripped straight through. Several small splotches of dry red from when he choked and drowned in his own blood still remained around his closed mouth. Otherwise, as if to defy the morbid scene, it almost appeared as if he was peacefully asleep. Shepard used that fact that to somewhat ease himself, wanting to believe it implied the young marine was now in a better place ‒ happily watching over the galaxy in eternal harmony.

"You knew him personally?" Nihlus stepped to Shepard's side and looked down at the face of the dead Human marine.

The commander stayed quiet for a few seconds longer before reclosing the zipper of the body bag and standing up. His voice was a low and soft whisper. "I spoke with him before we left. He was going on about looking for serious action like a damn fool." He slowly shook his head and shifted his gaze up into the sky. "I told him... if he kept a clear head and remembered his training, he would be alright."

The spectre turned to face the Human, his expression barely hinting at some sort of sympathy through its usual cold shell. "The loss of a young soldier is always tragic, Shepard. But it's necessary for the success of the mission."

"It always is. That doesn't make it any easier."

"Of course."

Another lengthy silence passed between them and, as it continued, the commander could sense Nihlus' growing impatience. "Alright," he said before the spectre could speak in protest of the laconism. His voice had once again returned to its firm and decisive tone affiliated with his role as a leader. "Let's get the hell out of here before we run into another patrol..." He turned a short glance at Williams. "...or search party."

The Turian took notice of the implied statement as they headed back to the grass field of the original Rally Point. "You believe the Geth we encountered were pursuing the woman?"

Shepard shrugged. "Do you believe that was a standard patrol?"

"No," was the immediate answer from Nihlus. With that, it became clear he too had believed the same from the moment he saw Williams. "I doubt they would have had an Armature if it was."

"Then we have our answer." The commander continued onward without another word, quietly entering the grass field a minute later with the spectre still in tow. The two walked over to the rocky cliff overlooking the AO ‒ passing by several marines who were either searching the dozens of 'dead' synthetics or pulling security for the former ‒ and stopped with barely a foot between them and the edge. Shepard crouched on his right knee and peaked his head over the forty or fifty meter drop before looking back up to absorb the scene laying in front of him. The enormous behemoth, which could now only be assumed to be a Geth creation, remained ever looming over the mission's primary objective location. "Whatever it is they're doing down there..." he finally said after several moments of silently observing. "... they don't plan on leaving any witnesses."

* * *

 **Index**

 _ **RPG: R** ocket **P** ropelled **G** renade._

 _ **LMG: L** ight **M** achine **G** un._

 ** _HMG: H_** _eavy **M** achine **G** un._

 ** _Semper Fi:_** _Short for "Semper Fidelis", the motto of the United States Marine Corps. Literal Latin translation for "Always Faithful."_

 ** _HEAT: H_** _igh **E** xplosive **A** nti- **T** ank._

 ** _CCP:_** _**C** asualty **C** ollection **P** oint._


	5. C4) Crossroads

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait, readers. Besides working on this little side project, a ME Self-Insert fanfic called_ A World Known _, I've also been dealing with a lot of real life issues. I'm sure everyone can understand the real world always takes priority, but I still never like having to delay something I planned on releasing sooner. Anyways, if you would be as so kind to forgive me, please enjoy the next chapter in_ The Hunt!

 _A/N #2: From this moment on, I will be saving a space below the Index/Codex at the end of the chapter for interactions with reviews. With this I can stay in touch with readers and answer any questions that might not otherwise be answered in the story. So please, don't mind giving my story a review! Whether it be good or bad, I won't mind! :D_

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

 **Crossroads**

The eerie laconism that seemed to engulf the settlement put even Shepard on edge. Only the feint whistling of blowing wind and the occasional footsteps of his marines ever dared to echo through the dark alleyways and abandoned facilities. Even the sounds of distant gunfire in the backdrop had died out long before they arrived. Scorch marks, bullet holes, a few collapsed buildings, and burning vehicles littered the otherwise vacant streets, giving proof to the fact that the location had indeed been the site of a serious battleground. Even after having traveled deep into the center of the town, however, the commander and his small team had not yet seen a single body, whether it be synthetic or organic. Nor had they encountered any active Geth since those they fought earlier on the cliff side two kilometers away to the Southeast. It was incredibly suspicious and nerve racking to say the least and Shepard's paranoia was skyrocketing. He fully expected to run into a well-set trap any minute now.

"We're in the middle of goddamn ambush alley," weakly cried the feminine voice of one of the five marines stacked up on the wall behind him. "We need to get out of here, sir!"

The commander turned his gaze to see it was the second one down from him, Private First Class Mariana Rodriguez. However, before he could tell her to keep quiet and stay focused, Jackson, the marine behind her, beat him to it with a hard elbow to her arm. "Shut up! You're gonna get us killed saying that kind of crap!"

Rodriquez snarled at the Lance Corporal with a Hispanic accent. " _Go to hell!_ "

"I don't have Spanish in my translator, _Consuela_!" That statement caught the attention of the other four marines without much difficulty, for both the comical mockery and the lack of a Spanish translation program in Jackson's omnitool. He noticed them all stare at him with curious expressions through their helmet visors. "What? Every human who matters speaks English or Chinese, and I got thousands of other alien languages and dialects to worry about."

Shepard nearly had to suppress a smile as he returned his gaze forward. If Jackson knew how to do something well, it was how to bring humor to otherwise dark circumstances. Even if it did temporarily distract people from the mission. _Damn idiots, I swear_. "That's enough, you two. Lock it up and keep watching your sectors."

"Aye, sir," replied the two marines in unison.

As the group steadily moved onward towards the corner of the next housing prefab, Rodriquez continued to bitterly mumble to herself while Jackson smiled stupidly for his partial victory over the PFC. The commander, no longer tolerating the childish behavior, hastily turned around to send a deathly glare. It quickly put the two of them back on track by the time he stopped within a few feet of the end of the structure. Now returning his mindset to the situation at hand, he aimed his rifle to the right and scanned across the t-intersection. Once comfortable with the lack of any visible activity, he brought his rifle back to his front and just barely poked it out of the corner. He then leaned outward as he checked around to the left with a practiced precision while the marine to his back, Corporal Kennedy, continued to scan the area across the street at a seventy-degree angle. Rodriquez kept her M-8 focused on the second story windows directly perpendicular of their position as Jackson watched the ground levels in the same direction. The second to last marine, who was the Australian-accented woman from earlier, and Corspman Alenko were both watching the rear angles of the stacked formation. "Left clear."

"Right clear," Kennedy informed.

"Kennedy, go."

"Bounding," the Irishman said as he pushed himself to a sprint. Once he ran the two dozen yards to the opposite side of the paved road and into an alley between two more prefabs, he planted himself on the wall and raised his rifle back up to cover Shepard's right. "Set!"

"Rodriquez, go."

"Bounding!" The female marine made sure to jump over a street lamp that had collapsed over the asphalt as she dashed across the road. When she was only about halfway, a single slug suddenly cut through the air with the ear-piercing _CRACK_ of its bullet bow wave. It hit and shattered her shields instantly, the force of the impact shoving her to the side and slamming her into the skeleton of a blown up aircar. Both Shepard and Kennedy retreated several yards to their backs in response to the event.

"Sniper," the corporal yelled from across the street. "I didn't see a muzzle flash!"

The commander motioned his hand as if he were patting the air. "Stay down!" He looked over to where the PFC was laying on the ground in the middle of the street ‒ a small space between the metal pole of the fallen lamp to her left and the aircar wreck to her right ‒ and noticed she began moving. The round had fortunately missed her actual body. "Rodriquez! _Stay down_!"

She apparently had no idea how she fell to the floor and groggily attempted to push herself up. "What the he-" Another bullet abruptly cut her off, barely missing the top of the lamp pole and causing her to drop back down to the ground face first with her hands over the back of her head. " _Fuck_!"

"I said stay the hell down!" Shepard looked up to Kennedy. "You see anything that time?"

"Negative!"

"Shit." There was now only one viable way to find the position of the hidden sniper and, as always, he did not like having to resort to the option. Dealing with marksmen was, more often than not, a very dangerous game of luck. The only moment a truly skilled shooter would ever take a shot was if they believed they were guaranteed a solid hit. And that meant the only way to get them to shoot was by giving them something, or someone, to shoot _at_. "You." Shepard pointed to the Australian-accented marine. "What's your name again?" He did not want to admit it, but he was never very good at remembering names ‒ of those who were still alive ‒ and he had not personally spent enough time on the _Normandy_ to memorize those of all of his marines.

The woman lowered her weapon and walked up to him. "Corporal Evie Robinson, sir!"

"Alright, Robinson. How fast are you?"

"I was a front runner on my high school's track team, but..." She paused for a moment in hesitation. "That was high school."

"You're small, light, and have track experience. That's more than enough." Shepard paid no mind to the slight grimace she had at the mention of her short height, which must have been no taller than 5'2". "When I tell you to 'go', you move your ass as fast as you can across the street and do _not_ stop to help Rodriguez. Understood?"

Robinson moved off the wall and positioned herself in a running stance to prepare for the sprint. "Understood, sir."

"Good." The commander began inching himself closer to the corner of the wall until just before the tip of his rifle peaked out. Once he stopped, he turned to the female marine and nodded. "Go!"

Clearly remembering much more about her days in track than she would likely admit, Robinson practically launched into the road with the speed of a trained runner. "Bounding!" At the exact moment she passed him, Shepard leaned out and peered down the road to the left with his rifle's built-in scope. Kennedy did the same across the street, but instead looked to the commander's right. Not a half-second later did a slug shoot by with its supersonic _CRACK_ accompanied by a slightly softer _zip_ , meaning the round had passed a few meters away from Shepard's ears. Robinson kept on running as if she did not even mind getting shot at, completely ignoring Rodriguez's pleas for help when she ran by. It almost seemed as if she would make it all the way across too, until a second bullet shattered her shields and punctured her thigh when she was just a few yards away from the end. With a loud, painful yelp, she stumbled onto the floor at Kennedy's feet and had to be quickly hauled the rest of the way by the man. "SET," she angrily yelled out through clenched teeth.

Shepard managed to lean back into cover before another round, this one aimed at him, hit the edge of the corner, spraying his helmet with relatively harmless metal shrapnel. "I got a muzzle flash! Sniper's holding up in an observation tower about a klick to the West." And that meant the marksman's location was virtually right on top of the excavation site.

Jackson shifted over to the commander's side, still aiming his M-76 at the buildings across the street to their perpendicular. "We can call in the _Normandy_ for some CAS."

"Negative," Shepard said with a disagreeing shake of his head. "If that's the dig site, we can't risk hitting the beacon."

"Then what do you suggest we do, sir?"

He spent a moment in deep thought before answering. "Pop smokes, then I'll radio in Team Two and see if Kurokawa can line up a shot. If not..." he shrugged. "We'll have to deal with it when we get closer."

—

Corporal Foster stared upon the dozen metal spikes, all lined up along the front yard of the residential colony prefab, with a dreadful disgust and growing nausea. Atop each was a single Human being, skewered through the chest and hanging at least ten to fifteen yards in the air. Their blood oozed down the chrome-colored metal in gallons, forming large puddles of red beneath the devices' pedestals. Some of the corpses' faces had frozen in shock and pain after their deaths; evidence that the victims were still alive and conscious when their Geth capturers herded them to the slaughter. There were men, women... even children among the dead. "They even killed the kids, Sergeant. The fucking _kids_!"

Kurokawa could not bring himself to look at the sight any longer. He turned himself away and practically threw the helmet off his head for a fresh breath, but soon learned it was to be a poor idea. The smell of death and decay had long filled the air, causing him to gag horridly. "This... this isn't right."

"It's evil ‒ that's what it is." Staff Sergeant Petrovka's eyes were burning with a sour animosity as his gaze roamed over every corpse. His heart, however, nearly stopped in his chest when he saw the last one on the left. The small face and petite figure impaled before him was a little too much to bare. " _Bastards_..." he whispered in translated Russian before returning to English. "We need to keep moving and mourn the dead later. Right now..." He turned around to face his small element of five marines. "We make those sons of bitches pay."

"Now that's what I'm talking about." Gunnery Sergeant Ashley Williams nodded in eager agreement as she flipped the safety off of her 'new' M-8. "I'm ready to get some payback whenever you are." Though she was of a superior rank to Petrovka, Commander Shepard had ordered she follow under the command of the staff sergeant. It was an abnormal order to say the least, but she understood where he was coming from. Or least she tried to. She wanted to believe it was simply because the marines next to her were _Petrovka's_ marines. They already had a certain level of trust, understanding, and cooperation in their team. They were also Recon, which made them an almost stereotypically... strange group of people. She, for now, wanted to believe it was not because of who she was ‒ a Williams. Keeping a mindset like that tended to make following such commands much easier.

" _Team One to Team Two_ ," abruptly came Shepard's voice over Petrovka's communicator. " _We're pinned down over here by enemy sniper fire. Is Echo-Five-Kilo available for support?_ "

The staff sergeant immediately turned his attention to his radio. "Roger that, Team One." He pointed at Kurokawa, who had already put his helmet back on, and motioned his fingers for the sergeant to approach. "What's the location of the sniper?"

" _One klick West-Southwest of your position. Target is held up on the top of a ten-story observation tower near the dig site. How copy?_ "

"Solid copy. Team Two will need one mic to get eyes on."

" _Roger. Team One, out_."

"Shepard and Team One are pinned down by a sniper," the staff sergeant declared for his marines to hear. "Kurokawa. Once we clear out this building, see if you can get a visual on the observation tower way out there about a kilometer to the West. That's where the shooter's holding up." The sergeant gave a simple, but firm nod. "Everyone else, stack up on me." A round of more nods and acknowledgements came from the other team members as they followed him to the front entrance of the nearest two-story prefab. With him on point, they lined up along the wall to the left side of the closed door and, one by one, quickly gave verbal call outs that they were set. When the last marine was in place, he gave a reaffirming nod to those behind him and raised his hand for a three-fingered countdown.

On the last finger, Petrovka opened the electronic sliding door with a fist to its holographic control panel. Instead of instantly entering the prefab, however, Williams walked around him instead and took the first steps inside. "Going right!"

"Going left," the staff sergeant then said, following behind the woman.

At that moment, everything that had been taught in MOUT training came rushing back for the marines like it was second-hand nature. It had long been drilled it into them to the point of it becoming instinct, just as it did for every other active marine serving in the Corps. Breaching had become a methodical procedure they excelled at and it showed when the team of six moved from room to room, clearing out the living area and kitchen of the first floor as if it was routine. They moved close along the walls, rifles up and ready at all times as they individually kept watch over their own window, door, or corner. The last marine would 'pull security' and focus on the last door the team entered through after closing it from the inside. "Right clear," Williams would declare loudly once a room was successfully breached.

Petrovka would proceed soon afterwards with "Left clear," followed shortly by a "Room clear." If there was any detail within the particular room they were in that was deemed important enough, such as a new unexplored doorway, they would call it out as a warning for those behind them. In the last room on the first floor, Petrovka immediately took notice of the staircase leading to the second level. "Stairs on the left."

"Roger, going up." Williams took point at the bottom of the stairs and, with the others stacked up tightly behind her, began slowly proceeding up step by step. At the top of the stairs was a left turn leading into a long hallway that stretched the length of the structure. When the gunnery sergeant turned the corner, she stopped in place and lifted her open left hand up, silently telling the marines at her back to halt. "Staff Sergeant, I got a Geth body on the opposite end of the hall," she whispered.

"Is it still active?"

She lightly shrugged. "I can't tell. The flashlight isn't on, but it doesn't look too badly damaged from here."

"Then keep going." Petrovka patted her left shoulder a couple times. "But slowly and quietly, and don't take your sights off it."

"Aye, aye." Williams acknowledged the order with a nod. "Moving." The hallway ahead had a total of three doors, all on the left side. Unlike the floor below, the hall was nearly entirely dark due to a complete lack of working lighting fixtures on the ceiling. The only limited form of illumination came from the meager amount of sunlight that glimmered through the open door at the end. "Set," she softly declared when she reached the first door. Petrovka again tapped her shoulder two times, signifying he was ready to breach. In response, she opened the door, aimed her rifle inside, and rushed in to the right without a word. "Right clear."

"Left clear." The staff sergeant, who had followed Williams in, took only a moment to scan over the furniture accessories and king-sized bed of the bedroom before turning back to the door. At the same time, he heard the voices of two other marines breach and clear the second room. "Two marines exiting."

"Exit," said Kurokawa from out in the hallway.

When Williams took her first steps back out, her attention, and that of the others near her, was instantly caught by the sudden yelp a marine from down the hall. She instinctively lifted her rifle in the direction of the noise, expecting an immediate threat in need of being eliminated. She instead, however, found Foster standing over the body of the Geth. And aiming his weapon at its now glowing head. "Hey! This thing is still alive, or... whatever! Its damn flashlight is on!"

"Hold your fire," Petrovka commanded before the corporal could pull the trigger. He speed-walked down the hall and pushed the barrel of the other man's rifle towards the ground. "Look at it. It can't move anything below the head."

Foster had a nervous and, quite frankly, terrified look on his face as he looked over the disabled Geth again. His tension noticeably eased up a bit when he took notice of the bullet hole that cut through the synthetic's neck, the occasional sparks of electricity that would burst from within every second or so giving proof of the machine's broken 'nervous system'. After a few deep breathes, he lifted his finger off his rifle's trigger with a faint, nervous laugh. "Yeah, guess you're right." In an attempt to instill some more confidence in himself, the corporal kicked the body of the Geth. When the synthetic seemed to shriek in a noise comparable to a garbled clicking with interfering static, however, Foster very nearly jumped back into the wall behind him. " _Fuck_ me! Why can't we just shoot it?" His rifle was once again aimed at the Geth's head.

"Because I said _no_ , Corporal." The staff sergeant practically shoved the marine to the side. "That's an order!"

Williams cautiously walked up to the two men. Rifle lowered, but at the ready. "With all due respect, Staff Sergeant, I don't think it's a good idea to keep it... _alive_. For all we know, it might be telling the entire Geth army where we are."

Petrovka dismissed the claim with a shake of his head. "I think we'd be hearing more of those clicking noises if it was." He too kicked the synthetic's motionless body, eliciting another mechanical shriek from the machine. "No, I think its long range communicator is fried and that is why the damn thing is still here. Why else do you think we haven't seen any other Geth bodies laying around?"

The gunnery sergeant cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "So you think their salvaging their dead? Why would they do that?"

"You think I know?" The staff sergeant snorted. "I'm a marine, not an expert on robots. I'm just saying the obvious." He quickly shook his head again. "It doesn't matter right now, anyways. We still need to take out that sniper. Has this last room been cleared," he asked no one specifically with a point of his finger at the last open door.

"Affirm," confirmed Kurokawa, who had been standing next to Foster. "We were just walking out when that thing activated."

"Then unless there are more rooms, the building's all clear. Did you find a good shooting position?

The Japanese sergeant nodded. "The window in this room had a good view on that tower Team One was talking about."

"Then get on with it. I want that sniper taken out _now_." Petrovka turned to the remaining marines behind him when Kurokawa and Foster ran back into the last room in the hallway. "Gunny, take position in that first bedroom and keep an eye on the streets. The rest of us will pull security down on the first floor. Any questions?"

"No, Staff Sergeant," was the collective answer from all three of them.

"Good," he said matter-of-factly with a groan. "Because I'm not taking any."

—

Nihlus saw everything from deep within the shadows of the cargo terminal. His breathing slow and silent. His body unmoving in the presence of the enemy. He watched diligently as the two Geth troopers dragged the screaming Human female atop the deathly altar. And witnessed in horror the moment when the tall metal spike shot up into the air from the device and through her chest, making a blood curling cry her final moment. As the synthetics, apparently satisfied with their work, casually walked away and out of sight, the Turian dreadfully watched the crimson red blood flood out of her mouth and sickly ooze down the metal spear from the gaping hole now present in her lower chest. The fact he was a well-endowed spectre notably helped him mentally block out any emotional reaction or connection to the event he might have otherwise had, but it could not have completely stopped the nauseating and stomach churning effect the scene gave him. However, if there was any positive consequence to it all, it simply fueled his determination to finish the mission and report these blatant war crimes to the Council as soon as possible.

The weak, barely audible sound of a single footstep immediately caused the Turian to turn to the deeper shadows at his back. With the M-77 Paladin heavy pistol in his hand charged and ready to fire, he focused his aim on a turianoid figure slowly emerging from the darkness. When it finally approached close enough for the spectre to see relatively clearly, he gently lowered his weapon as an undoubtable expression of surprise and confusion crossed his face. "Saren?"

Saren Arterius, the longest serving and most highly decorated Spectre of the Citadel Council, looked coldly and emotionlessly at his fellow Turian with lightly glowing purple eyes. His 'skin' was a pale grey and he had no markings upon his body or face, indicating he was either born aboard a ship in space or had discarded his heritage completely. "Nihlus," he simply stated in his deep, unsympathetic voice.

Nihlus continued to stare questioningly at his old mentor for a few seconds. He took notice of the various tubes running along the side of Saren's armor from the left arm down to the hip, but dismissed it all as nothing more than an extensive use of cybernetics. The older Turian was always a significant user of implants and, at his current age, it made sense he would need to endure drastic procedures to keep his skills and intellect on par with his younger self. "This isn't your mission. What are you doing here?"

The older spectre walked up and placed his hand on his subordinate's side. "The council thought you could use some help on this one," he answered, attempting to sound faintly reassuring through his dispassionate demeanor. He returned his hand to his side and spoke again. "What happened to the Human soldiers I heard you were working with?"

"We separated." Nihlus very well knew of Saren's hatred for Humanity and its inherent desire for exploration and discovery. His old friend believed they lacked the same order and strength the Turian species used to control their aggressive natures and, in turn, thought of them as nothing more than a danger to galactic stability. It was a major ideological difference between the two men, but they nonetheless always respected each other as both fellow Turians and elite soldiers. However, as the younger spectre looked at the man who was once his honored teacher, something scratched as the back of his mind. Something just wasn't... _right_. "You know how I work better alone. So I left them behind to scout out the area." He intentionally left out the part where it had been planned for him to extensively cooperate with the Human commander. And that he knew the exact position of the surviving squad-strength group of marines.

Saren's mandibles twitched in what Turians would consider a very small smirk, though it only lasted for a split second before his face returned to a deadpan that made his old student look like the most expressive person on Palaven. "I shouldn't have expected the Humans to be equal to my former pupil." He continued walking forward until he was standing behind his fellow spectre. "It is... unfortunate-" That peaked Nihlus' curiosity. "-but predictable."

"Maybe," the younger spectre admitted. "But none of us were expecting to find the Geth here. The situation's bad."

"Don't worry," Saren said coldy. "I've got it under control."

Now Nihlus knew something was wrong ‒ the man he knew for years and considered a close friend was acting strange. As he continued to think about it, it was impossible for the Council to even know about the situation on Eden Prime due to the heavy Geth jamming, let alone have the ability to send another agent to a location on the edge of their jurisdiction so quickly. Whoever this Saren was, he was not the same person that Nihlus knew. "What is going on?" He began turning to face the Turian who claimed was his aging mentor. "You're not being..." When the younger spectre finally brought up his gaze to look at Saren, he was silenced by the end of a pistol barrel aiming at his forehead from just a couple feet away. His eyes widened and jaw dropped as a mixture of disbelief, betrayal, dread, and gloom overcame his emotions. "Why... why are you-" Nihlus was never allowed to finish when the hand cannon fired, sending a mass effect propelled slug into his head.

* * *

The scene was like a ghost town ripped straight out of a horror movie. Vehicles not destroyed from the large battle waged earlier were abandoned by their owners in the middle of the street, leaving some with their engines still active and wireless keys left inside. A few scattered aircars even had bagged groceries left to rot in the back seats or trunks. Many of the residential homes were left opened or unlocked as well, with clothes and accessories scattered on the front lawns displayed as evidence of the panic and desperation of those who once lived within the colony. The entire sight made Private First Class Riley Thompson that much more jittery as she stared up and down the wide avenue from the first floor window of the colonial prefab. She had taken off her helmet and was now fiddling around with her shoulder length dirty blonde hair in an attempt to ease her nervous sweat. "Looking at this place gives me goosebumps."

A mocking chuckle echoed from the other side of the family room. "We're in a warzone, Sister. Were you expecting leprechauns and rainbow shitting unicorns?"

Thompson shot a piercing glare at the speaker in question to the right with her sky blue eyes. "I was expecting to kill eyebag pirates, dickhead. Not fight a ground war with killer robots."

Corporal Jason Stafford turned away from his window and laid back further into the couch cushion as his laugh grew slightly louder. "Christ, you sound like a reservist." He looked down at an empty mug laying on the floor near his feet and kicked it halfway across the room. "Hey, Staff Sergeant," he called out toward the open doorway at the back of the room. "I didn't know we were this desperate for cannon fodder."

A faint chuckle came as a response from Petrovka. "Why don't you do me a favor, Stafford? Watch the front of the fucking house and make sure a clicker doesn't shoot me in the back."

The corporal returned his gaze to the shattered window in front of him before replying. "Saving egotistical foul-mouthed Russians from robotic overlords is exactly why I joined the Corps."

"Keep talking. I hear an NJP ready to knock you on your pretty little ass." Though Petrovka gave a semi-serious warning, the tone of his voice failed to mask the amusement he found out of Stafford's semantics.

"Love you, Staff Sergeant." With a large smirk on his face, the corporal looked at Thompson and whispered just loud enough for her to hear. "You think I have a 'pretty little ass' too?" He briefly lifted his thigh in a satirical pose that exposed the camouflaged jumpsuit skin of his rear-end and winked.

Thompson rolled her eyes, but could not help but smile at the other marine's intentional stupidity. "I don't know how you do it."

Stafford cocked a curious eyebrow. "Do what?"

"You know..." Her gaze shifted down to the floor as she shrugged halfheartedly. "How do you just... ignore what happened?" After about a dozen quiet seconds passed without an answer, she looked back up to see the corporal silently staring at her. Though she could only see his dark brown eyes through his visor, she could tell he was no longer smiling.

It felt like an eternity for the two marines before Stafford finally, albeit slowly, turned his head back towards the window. His previous attitude of bashful playfulness was now replaced by that of a darker somber atmosphere. "I don't," was the simple answer he provided.

Thompson watched as the man silently scanned the area in front of the prefab for the next several long moments. During the course of the laconism, it quickly became obvious he did not want to continue the conversation and, abiding by his unspoken wishes, she looked back at her own intact window without a single word. After another relatively short passage of time, the PFC took the opportunity to make a more in-depth observation of the current room she was in. Surprisingly enough, the furniture and accessories scattered throughout the living space were incredibly barebones: a coffee table in the center, a long couch stretched along the side wall facing inward, a single accompanying sofa chair ‒ which she occupied ‒, a decently sized holographic television screen on the wall opposite of the couch, and a well-crafted entertainment center made of wood native to Eden Prime standing below the TV. It was not as if everything deemed important was stripped away by the original owners when they had evacuated. The simple fact was there had not been many personal effects laying about to begin with. Something did, however, catch Thompson's complete attention. Sitting on the top of the wooden entertainment center was a small, metallic picture frame with what appeared to be a family photo. Allowing curiosity to control her, she hastily stood up and walked over to get a better look. As she reached out her free hand and picked up the vertical rectangle frame, she saw within it a photograph of an almost stereotypically average family. There was an adult man and woman, presumably husband and wife, standing behind two young kids, presumably their children, all with wide grins that gave off the impression they were the happiest group of people in the galaxy. "It's so sad," she declared out loud.

Stafford's gaze wandered around the room for a split second before it landed upon the female marine, as if he had not even realized she had walked away from her previous position. "What is?"

Thompson returned the family portrait to its original spot and slowly gestured around the room with her hand. "All of this." She paused until she was once again seated in her sofa chair. "Everything these people did to make a better life for themselves, all to be taken away and destroyed. The families torn apart and the children who will..." She almost could not bring herself to say it. "... never live life to the fullest."

A solemn silence filled the air between the two marines, neither one initially knowing what to truly say with that revelation. Eventually, however, Stafford decided to speak up. "You're a really depressing individual. Anyone ever tell you that?" Thompson shook her head in resignation and sighed, but the corporal continued before she could give a verbal response. "I think that's what I like about you, though."

It was the PFC's turn to go wide eyed and cock a surprised eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "That stupidly kind and idealistic heart of yours, I think. You're so damn pure ‒ I just can't ever figure out what convinced you to enlist. And don't even get me started on why you joined Recon. We're like the marine corps version of special ed kids."

To that Thompson let loose a genuine laugh, surprising even herself. "A girl's got to have her secrets."

"You women and your secrets." Stafford shook his head with a chuckle. "All a bunch of drama queens if you ask me."

"Here we go," the female marine said jokingly as she rolled her eyes. "And men don't have secrets?"

"Of course we do! But none so bad as to start a social world war. Us men don't tend to gossip and connive like a bunch of little schoolgirls."

Thompson gasped in mock disbelief. "That is a sexist stereotype! We're not gossipers, we're master manipulators. Bending men to our will is how we thrive."

"See?!" Stafford pointed an accusing finger at her. "That right there! Everyone in the galaxy is afraid of AIs, but I'm sitting here fearing the most dangerous threat: the opposite gender."

Even Petrovka joined in on the warm laughter that ensued between the two marines. It was a sudden, but welcome change of pace from the grim reality that had been the center of attention during the course of the mission. "Alright, that's enough you two, lock it up. We're not out of the shit storm yet." As if on cue, the loud discharge of Kurokawa's sniper rifle almost immediately echoed throughout the residential prefab. A brief celebration from the two marines upstairs soon followed, proving the fact they successfully eliminated the enemy sniper. "Perfect timing," he declared a moment prior to Foster and the sergeant walking down the stairs. "I'm assuming you took out that Geth shooter?"

Kurokawa nodded with a soft, but proud smile. "Affirm, Staff Sergeant. Team One should be in the clear."

"Good shooting, Kuro. Williams," Petrovka practically yelled up to the second floor. "Rally up!" He waited for several moments until the gunnery sergeant came walking down the stairs, then turned to address those present. "All of you get your gear together and be ready to move out the second I'm done reporting to-"

The staff sergeant did not finish before he was abruptly interrupted by the sound of ruffling debris and rubble from outside. All of the marines instinctively raised their rifles toward the noise, which came from somewhere near the front of the building. In silent professionalism, they quickly took cover along the wall of the main entrance of the prefab while Stafford and Thompson vigilantly scanned the areas outside of their windows. The PFC had already put her helmet back on her head when she spoke. "See anything on your side?"

"Negative," replied Stafford. "I'm not seeing crap." His declaration was soon followed by more thrashing noises from the left, this time much closer.

Thompson, in response, slid her window open just enough to slightly stick her head out and get a better view back down the road the marines came from. The initial shock and disbelief of what she saw next caused her to lightly shake her head and squint her eyes a few times in hopes that she was not seeing correctly. However, when the sight remained unchanged, a nervous fear began to build up inside her. After she slowly inched back inside and closed the window, she turned towards her team leader. "Um, Staff Sergeant?"

"What did you see," Pretrovka inquired posthaste, having already noticed the PFC's sudden stiffness.

"The bodies..." The female marine's eyes were visibly wide and displaying early signs of panic through her helmet visor. "They're gone."

The staff sergeant just stared at her, clearly confused by her statement. "What?"

Thompson pointed a finger toward the left of the window. "Those bodies we saw impaled on the spikes? They aren't there anymore. And the spikes are, uh, smaller now."

Petrovka did not say another word as he moved to her window. When he looked outside and saw exactly what the female marine had described, he was nearly rendered speechless. "What the hell is going on," he quietly asked no one specifically. A moment later, after blankly staring at nothing particular in deep thought, he turned to the rest of his small squad to issue new orders. However, the abrupt sound of glass violently shattering from the back side of the prefab interrupted his thoughts. He and everyone else in the room reacted instantly by retrained their rifles back towards the doorway leading to the kitchen, but froze in place due to the low guttural moan that immediately followed from that direction. It was an organic, but completely unnatural noise that sent cold shivers up their spines. For several seconds afterwards, the nervous silence that filled the air was only broken by the sound of bare feet hitting against the metal floor of the building. Eventually, the cause of it all emerged from the doorway, forcing the group of marines to take a step or two back in horror.

Standing there now was something that could only be described as an abomination. It was clear how the figure must have been a Human male at some point in the past, with it having two arms, two straight legs, five fingers on each hand, five toes on each foot, and a freakishly Human-looking face. Regardless, it was most definitely _not_ Human any longer. Its naked body was now, instead, something more akin to a cybernetic construct. Synthetic materials and wiring were crudely welded and merged with the pale flesh, while cuts and open seams littered over its limbs pulsed in a purplish hue. Metal tubing stuck out of the creature's mouth and appeared to have been shoved down its throat, causing the jaw to remain permanently hanging loose. When it turned its gaze toward the group of marines with a pair of deathly blue glowing eyes, it released an animalistic growl and charged without hesitation.

The creature did not even reach halfway across the room before the marines opened fire, mowing it down like a firing squad. Once its limp corpse was sprawled on the floor, sickly green fluid gushing from the numerous bullet wounds, a long moment of uneasy silence filled the air until Stafford spoke up. "What the fuck was _that_?! I must be going crazy or something, because I swear we just lit up a fucking zombie!"

As if to respond to the question, a chorus of loud husky moans resonated from nearly every direction outside. Even Petrovka was not immune to the fear that managed to crawl into his soul at the very sound of it all. It was as if the prefab had become surrounded by a horde of the same unnatural creature his marines had just gunned down. Hoping that to not be the case, he walked back to Thompson's window and looked outside to find his wishes brutally crushed. At least a dozen of the vile abominations were now roaming around on the streets and heading towards the building, having likely been drawn in by the sounds of gunfire and Stafford's chatter. "Mother of god..." He turned back to the men and women under his command with a look of dire urgency. "Marines! Prepare to defend yourselves!"

* * *

 ** _Index_**

 ** _CAS: C_** _lose **A** ir **S** upport._

 ** _Klick:_** _Short for "kilometer"._

 ** _MOUT:_** _**M** ilitary **O** perations in **U** rban **T** errain. In the real world, MOUT courses are the USMC's version/form of Urban Combat training. Urban warfare is among the most dangerous forms of combat, and as such MOUT is considered by some to be the most important ITC (Individual Training Course) in the Corps. It is where Marines learn how to successfully breach and clear buildings in CQB environments, all the while being taught how to maintain as little casualties as possible._

 ** _"Echo-Five-Kilo" Explanation:_** _When communicating over radio channels in an AO, it is typical in the military for a speaker to address someone by either their callsign or rank-specific designation. "Echo" is the NATO Phonetic Alphabet term for the letter "E", and in this instance represents the word "Enlisted", meaning not the rank of a commissioned offer. At the same time, "Oscar" would be used to represent "Officer". The US military's rank system is structured by pay grade, ranging from E-1 (lowest Enlisted rank) to E-9 (highest possible Enlisted rank), and O-1 (lowest Officer) to O-10 (highest Officer). The "five" in "Echo-Five-Kilo" represents the level of pay, meaning the person in question is an E-5, or better known as a Sergeant in the USMC/SAMC. The "Kilo" is the term used for the letter "K" in the NATO Phonetic Alphabet, and in a designation such as this simply represents the first letter of the person's last name. So in the story, the only person who fits the description "Echo-Five-Kilo" would be Sergeant Kurokawa._

* * *

 ** _Review Interactions_**

 ** _Jkdelta3_**

\- In response to your question about why I use the M8 instead of the M7 Lancer, the biggest reason I have to say is because in ME3's Citadel DLC, when you are in the vaults and you find the rifle, it says the M7 was a weapon used during the First Contact War. One of your companions/squadmates, whoever they might be, especially say how it is a _very_ old weapon. Now maybe others disagree and/or I misinterpreted the game, but I just don't see how it makes sense that the characters would say a rifle they used not two years earlier is old. Other than that, I just think it would be unrealistic to use the "level" system the first ME game used for it's weapons.

\- As to whether or not there is an Alliance "army" alongside the SAMC, the answer to that is yes. I won't spoil exactly how I plan on having it work just yet, so you'll just have to wait and see. As to why you don't see this "army" on Eden Prime though, it's simple: Eden Prime is one of those colonies planted right on the edge of the Terminus systems, similar to Horizon and Freedom's Progress. It isn't exactly a place the Alliance would want to put a large military presence, as it borders a hostile area of the galaxy. Think of it like the ME version of Okinawa, Japan where the US has Marines (the III MEF) stationed near the border of China. Eden Prime is that kind of situation, so instead of having military bases and the real "army" of the Alliance officially there, it has a smaller task force stationed for, essentially, the protection of the colony (just like how the III MEF is stationed in Japan for protection against the beginning of a Chinese or, possibly, North Korean invasion).

I hope I managed to answer your questions well!


End file.
